Justice Over Mercy
by leoandsnake
Summary: Sequel to "Devil's In The Details". A post-war Harry and Draco begin to sort out their lives after Voldemort and their shunted feelings for each other while entering the working world. HP/DM.
1. The Hiss and The Roar

Harry woke to the sound of running water and a blissful lack of a headache.

The headaches had been recurring throughout the last few years. He could trace them back to the night, toward the end of sixth year, when he and Draco had decided to have a purely platonic relationship for the sake of their safefty; but he did not.

The war, of course, had given him lots of headaches. Most of them weren't even scar related. He would stare up at the ceiling of the tent, listening to Ron and Hermione sleep, his head swimming with pain.

The final battle at Hogwarts had given him enough nightmares to last him years, enough long nights to grind his teeth in his sleep and wake up with his entire head aching.

But life had to move on, and so it had.

Kingsley had approached him sometime in June. He was rebuilding the Ministry, and he requested Harry and Ron join him as Aurors.

When Harry had mentioned not finishing school, Kingsley had clapped him on the back, laughed his musical laugh, and told Harry he was a war hero.

Harry was still struggling with that idea, but whatever, he had wanted to be an Auror for years. So he had come to London.

The Ministry had been in shambles at the end of the war, but it was slowly being restored. However, it was still heavily cursed, the Floo Portals blocked. No one could Apparate or Disapparate in or out of it.

The options were either to walk, or rent a Muggle car.

Harry was rather amused by this, and had rented a midsized automobile that was a bit swishy for his taste but did the job well. Arthur Weasley had bewitched it for him so it, for the most part, drove itself, although the charms were faulty and occasionally he had to whack the steering wheel repeatedly.

He had taken up residence in a rather nice hotel in London, not too far from the Ministry, that was sufficiently far away from most people he knew. He found himself needing a lot of alone time after the war, though he was closer to Hermione and Ron than he had ever been. Of course, they were _in love_, and wanted just as much time away from Harry as he needed from everyone else.

Harry had realized rather quickly that staying in this rather nice hotel indefinitely was going drain his Gringotts account, and had come up with the idea of a roommate.

Okay, he had thought, who's rich, just as fucked up as I am, and likely to leave me alone for the most part?

So that was how Draco Malfoy had come back into his life.

Of course, they had been in touch during the war -- they _had _to be in touch during the war.

Draco had become a reluctant spy for the Light shortly after sixth year began, under prodding from Harry, who insisted that it was the smartest thing you could do, get on well with both sides.

Harry had his own personal reasons for wanting to live with Draco, of course. The war was over, and the danger was gone, they _could_ go back to 'being involved' now, but neither of them had mentioned it, though Harry was dying inside to.

Draco had drawbacks as a roommate, of course.

Like his habit of taking a shower at god-forsaken hours of the morning.

Harry had his own weird post-war habits, he knew, like jumping into the air when the toaster went off, but nothing as inconvenient as this.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked over at the digital clock (this was a Muggle hotel, after all.)

The blurry red numbers read 4:45.

Harry sighed and pulled the comforter over his head. The other bed in the room, Draco's bed, was deserted.

The bathroom door creaked open. Draco stepped out, toweling his white-blond hair dry, another towel draped casually around his waist like an afterthought.

Harry sat up. His eyes skimmed Draco's lithe, naked torso for a moment before meeting Draco's eyes and glaring at him.

"What?" Draco drawled, tossing the wet towel on Harry's bed and striding over to his bed.

"The sun," Harry growled, "is not up yet."

"And?" Draco said, pulling his pajama bottoms back on.

Harry sighed through his nose and pressed his thumbs against his temples. "You're driving me nuts, here, Malfoy."

"Go back to sleep, Potter," Draco said, curling up in the soft white sheets. He sounded amused.

Harry sighed and tried to.

When he actually did wake up, at a more reasonable hour of the morning, he stumbled out into the kitchen area, rumpling his already wind-strewn hair.

Draco was sitting at the table, already immaculately dressed and jiggling his foot like he had been waiting for hours. It wasn't a nervous jiggle, as Draco seemed to have no nervous energy. It was a very passive aggressive jiggle.

"Morning," Harry muttered. "Is there coffee?"

Draco jerked his thumb behind him at the counter.

"I take it you're coming with me this morning, then," Harry said as he poured himself a cup.

"Antonin Dolohov," Draco said.

Draco had been subpoenaed for the trials of about twenty various Death Eaters, and most of them were ongoing, so he usually came with Harry to the Ministry. Harry went to the bright and recently painted Auror training facility, and Draco went down to the dusty courtrooms that Harry had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

"He didn't automatically go to Azkaban?" Harry said, surprised.

"They're trying to avoid..." Draco yawned. "Barty Crouch, y'know," he said.

"Ah," Harry said.

"Which is why they're making my life a living hell," Draco said, looking at his watch, "when they could just as easily throw them in prison right now. Hurry up, Potter."

Harry dressed and they left the hotel together. The lobby was very nicely decorated, which was something he continued to notice daily. It was large, with sumptuous little chintzes and large exotic plants and marble counters.

They piled into the car as they had for the last... Harry wondered. It was early July, so they'd been doing this for a few weeks. He was surprised it had been that long.

The car started itself and began to pull away in the direction of the Ministry.

"Wait, wait," Draco said. He was tugging on his seat belt. "For fuck's sake! Stupid Muggles!" He tugged it harder, but it wouldn't give him any more slack.

"Stop yanking it," Harry said, amused. "It's a seat belt, not your dick."

Draco let out a trademark exasperated sigh and pulled the seat belt very gently.

"There you go," Harry said with sarcastic amounts of condescension.

"So fucking counter-intuitive," Draco hissed.

Harry began to flip through the radio stations. The car picked up wizarding _and_ Muggle radio, which annoyed Draco to no end, and Harry liked to turn to the oldies station just to piss him off.

"Oh, hey," Harry said, when he heard Fred Weasley's voice.

"I'm not listening to the Weasleys," Draco said immediately.

"Wanker," Harry said teasingly.

"... and I asked her if she found me extremely attractive."

"Did she?" said Lee Jordan.

"Ha," George Weasley said.

"No," Fred replied, "but I have hope."

They cut to commercial and they heard Fred and George's prerecorded voices say in unison, "You're listening to PWTTR, Potterwatch turned talk radio!"

"Celestina Warbeck, then?" Harry said, his hand back to the radio.

"Mmph," Draco said distractedly, ruffling through a pile of paperwork. "I don't see why I need to read his file," he said. "I know what he did. I was there."

Harry shrugged.

They pulled into the parking garage near the Ministry.

Harry checked his watch. "I probably won't be done until late," he said.

"I'll walk, then," Draco said. "I only have to testify once today."

Harry nodded and watched Draco walk off for a minute, the longing in his stomach he had been nursing the past year aching a bit as he did.

* * *

_A/N: It feels SO GOOD to get this down and done with. I've actually planned JoM farther than I had planned DitD, and I've been thinking about it for longer, too._

_Few things to note: Completely canon war, except for two things: I did not kill Fred Weasley or Tonks, and of course, Draco was working as a spy for the Light. _

_If anyone's confused on the plot, feel free to PM me. I tried to explain well _and_ be concise, and usually one of those gets sacrificed along the way.  
_


	2. You'll Be The Death Of Me

"All right, folks," Kingsley called over their heads.

The large group of Aurors-in-training quieted and turned to face him. He was standing next to a grim looking Tonks, whose arms were folded tightly.

Harry and Ron had been talking off to the side of the room. Harry was still getting used to everyone looking at him, every moment of the day. It had been bad in the years before, sure, but not like this.

"While Tonks and I are getting everything ready for today," Kingsley boomed, "we'd like you all to mingle a bit. Introduce yourself to someone you haven't talked to yet. Good chance they're going to be saving your ass one of these days."

He and Tonks disappeared into the office adjoining the training room. After a beat, everyone shifted around and turned to a person standing relatively near them.

Harry turned to a girl he had seen a few times before.

"Hi," he said, smiling in a rather uncomfortable manner.

She gaped at him a moment and seemed to realize herself. "Oh, hello," she blustered, reaching out and shaking his hand rather effusively.

"I'm Harry Potter," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "As you... might have guessed."

She let out a small giggle. "Yes," she said. "I'm Ivanka Ivandrov."

Ivanka was pleasant looking in a cheery sort of way. Her face was wide and smiley, her hair a nondescript brown, and her eyes a light color that reminded Harry vaguely of Dumbledore. His stomach gave a painful tug.

"So, uh," Harry said, as small talk buzzed all around them. "Where did you go to school?"

"Beauxbatons," she said. He hadn't heard the slight French accent in her voice until then.

"Oh," Harry said. "If you don't mind me saying, you don't look very French," he commented.

"I'm not," she replied, smiling a bit. "My mother's British and my father's Russian."

"Ah," Harry said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I wanted to become an Auror," Ivanka said a bit quickly, "because of the war, but of course, by the time I was qualified to enter training, it was over."

She scrutinized him a moment.

"You're Witch Weekly's number one wizarding bachelor," she blurted out, then looked embarrassed.

"Oh, am I?" Harry said. He grinned. "Who told them I was a bachelor?"

"You aren't?" she said, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Well, yes," Harry said. Technically. "But they should never take that sort of thing for granted. I could be secretly engaged."

Ivanka smiled at him. "You're more laid-back than I thought you would be," she said. "I don't mean that badly or anything... Oh, _mon dieu_," she muttered to herself.

Harry laughed. "I'm just a normal bloke," he said. "Well, fairly normal. Hey, do you know Fleur Delacour?" he asked.

"Who?" she replied, furrowing her brow.

"Beauxbatons," he said. "Was about three years ahead of you, probably."

She bit her lip and looked at the ceiling, brow still furrowed. "No?"

"Well," Harry said with a grin, "you might be better off, then."

Ivanka smiled broadly. "You know, we should get together for drinks sometime, Harry," she said.

"Okay," Harry replied.

* * *

"Hey," Harry called, setting his key card down next to his cloak on the table.

Draco stumbled out of the bedroom, clutching a bottle of minibar champagne. He gave Harry a wolfish smirk. "Potter," he said, slurring a bit.

Harry checked his watch. Eight o' clock. "Happy hour ended an hour ago, you know," he informed Draco.

"It's a special occasion," Draco said, motioning that Harry follow him back into the bedroom.

The only light on in there was the small lamp on Harry's bedside table. Their suite lacked windows, so the bedroom was dim and had a reddish sort of glow to it.

Loosening his tie, Harry sat on his bed. "What's the occasion?"

"I have to testify against my father," Draco said. He handed Harry a glass of champagne. Harry set it to the side.

"What?" Harry said as he pulled off his socks. "I thought he defected?"

Draco waved his hand. "Who knows," he snapped. "There's far too much bullshit going on at the Ministry lately."

Harry disagreed, but he didn't say so. "Wouldn't that be, like a..." he searched for the term. "Conflict of interest?" he said.

"I don't know," Draco replied brusquely.

Harry didn't say anything else. Draco was known for being a volatile drunk, and he didn't want to start anything.

Draco laid down on the bed next to Harry's feet. Harry felt a familiar warm tingle work its way up his spine.

"My day was fine," Harry offered.

"Good for you," Draco said sarcastically.

"Jesus Christ, you're in a bad mood," Harry snapped.

Draco was quiet for a moment.

Harry poked Draco in the ribs with his bare foot a little.

"I sort of missed you, Potter," Draco said softly.

Harry smiled, knowing Draco couldn't see it.

Draco sat up. His eyes had that _look_ to him, the look Harry knew all too well. Harry's heart pounded. He felt a little light-headed.

Draco leaned over in the dark and met Harry's lips.

Harry's stomach leapt with surprise for a moment, and then met Draco back fiercely.

Draco pushed Harry forward so his back was against the bed. Harry fumbled with his glasses and cast them to the side. Draco's tongue worked its way into Harry's mouth, first questioningly, then urgently.

After a year of deprivation, Harry could not get enough of Draco's mouth, he was devouring him and Draco was doing the same.

"You're drunk," Harry muttered, shuddering as Draco trailed his tongue down Harry's neck.

"So?" Draco said softly, tugging on Harry's shirt and lifting it over his head.

Harry didn't respond, he just went for the zipper of Draco's pants, sliding them over his legs, his boxers following shortly.

"Fuck me," Draco hissed. "Right now."

Harry didn't need a second invitation -- he quickly tore off his remaining garments and slid on top of Draco.

It was so familiar, and yet the feeling of relief was immense. _A year_... god, a year was forever.

Draco twisted and writhed against the sweaty sheets as Harry thrusted into him, the mirror shouts of each other's names bouncing off the walls. Harry thought briefly of the people with rooms next to theirs. Oh, screw 'em.

Finally, he came, swearing, and they seperated, extracating themselves from the tangled bedclothes.


	3. Segues and Symphonies

Harry woke slowly and groggily.

It took him a second to recall exactly what had happened last night. His head ached a bit, as if he had banged it off the headboard or something.

He probably had, actually, Harry thought, sitting up and sliding his glasses on.

Draco was nowhere to be seen. The other bed was still made, so he must have slept next to Harry.

Harry stood up and dressed quickly.

Draco was lounging around on the small couch. He kept correcting Harry when he referred to it as a couch.

"It's a small _sectional_," he would say, in that Harry-is-a-cultureless-git tone of voice.

"I've been waiting for you for hours," Draco said, standing up and swaying a bit.

"How hungover are you?" Harry said with a grin.

"Stop talking so loudly," Draco snapped. "Can we go?"

"Whose trial today?" Harry said, grabbing his key card.

"Travers," Draco replied, rubbing his forehead. It amazed Harry that even hungover, Draco didn't have a hair out of place.

He didn't ever get sex hair, either. Harry _always_ had sex hair.

"Is it a bank holiday or something?" Harry said, when they had gotten into the swishy little car and were promptly greeted with London rush hour traffic that seemed particularly bad this morning.

Draco didn't respond, he just kept rubbing his forehead.

"Listen," Harry said. The turn signal ticked in his ears and he took in a deep breath. "About last night..."

"One man alone cannot be an orchestra," Draco said suddenly.

"What?" Harry said, thrown off-guard.

"Nothing," Draco said. He waved his hand. "Continue."

"I was just -- you know -- we could forget about it," Harry said, and then bit his lip and looked at the traffic spread out ahead of him. Someone honked.

There was a pause.

"What?" Draco replied.

"I just, you know," Harry said. "I'd like to not forget about it, but I wasn't sure what you..."

"Potter," Draco said. He actually sounded amused.

"Yes," Harry said nervously.

Draco turned to face Harry and smirked at him. "You're funny, Potter."

"Yes, I suppose I am," Harry said. "But where are you going with this?"

"I did not accidentally have sex with you, all right?"

"But," Harry said. "You were drunk, I just thought --"

"Potter, I've been waiting for that for an entire year, drunk or no," Draco said, and put his hand on Harry's thigh.

Harry breathed for what seemed like the first time in minutes. "Okay," he said. "So what are we doing now?"

"I don't know," Draco said, "but it's a whole hell of a lot better than what we were doing before."

Harry grinned and put his hand on top of Draco's.

* * *

Training that day was long and horrible. Kingsley had worked them until they could barely hold a wand anymore and were choking on their own spit from the force of the spells they were screaming at each other. All things considered, Harry was fairly glad to get back to the hotel.

As Harry stepped out of the elevator onto his floor, he noticed there was impossibly loud classical music echoing through the hallway.

It was coming from his room.

Harry stepped in the door, slightly apprehensive.

Draco was lying on his back on the sectional, waving his hands in the air.

Harry walked over and switched the radio off. Draco glared up at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry said, chuckling.

"Conducting," Draco said. "I have a headache. Leave me the fuck alone."

"God, you're weird, Malfoy," Harry said, sinking onto the couch with a belabored sigh. He closed his eyes.

A few moments later he felt someone climb onto his lap. Harry stared blearily up at Draco.

"You're very tense, Potter," Draco said, rubbing Harry's shoulders.

"I have a tense life," Harry groaned.

They were silent for a moment.

"I think Ron is going to ask Hermione to marry him," Harry said.

"You're kidding," Draco said.

"No," Harry replied. "I sort of wish I was. They've only been with each other since May. He probably won't, though." Actually, Harry had no idea what Hermione and Ron might do these days.

"Granger could do much better than the Weasel," Draco said dismissively.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Did you just, er, compliment Hermione?"

"I fail to see how that was a compliment," Draco said.

"You just complimented Hermione," Harry gloated.

"I respect her intelligence," Draco replied evenly. "That's all. She's a Mud -- how was your day?" he segued, spotting the look on Harry's face.

"Crap," Harry said.

Draco met Harry's lips gently. "So was mine," he muttered.

They both gazed at each other for a moment.

Harry kissed Draco back, sitting up straighter on the couch. Draco slid off Harry's lap and drew him to his feet, sliding one hand under Harry's shirt and pulling him harder against Draco's mouth with his tie with the other.

The magical radio turned itself back on, and Mozart swelled in the background as Harry and Draco fumbled their way to the bedroom.

* * *

_A/N: Fun fact -- Draco is 'conducting' Mozart's Symphony No. 25 in G Minor. _


	4. Truth Be Told

"Harry."

Harry turned to see Ivanka hovering behind him as he checked out of the Ministry for the day.

"'Ere," the man at the desk grunted, handing Harry his wand back.

"Yeah?" he said, motioning that she walk with him.

"I was just wondering," she said, a bit blustery, "if you wanted to maybe get a drink with me tonight? In that new bar in Diagon Alley?"

"Er," Harry said.

"Just, I mean, a friendly drink, as co-workers," Ivanka said a bit too quickly.

Harry nodded as they stepped into the bright sunlight. "Okay, that sounds... nice," he said.

She gave him a toothy smile. "Eight, then? I'll meet you in the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Yes," he said quickly, his attention distracted by Draco leaning against a payphone a few yards away, smirking at him.

She went off in the other direction and Harry sidled up to Draco.

"So you want a ride back, then?" Harry said.

"What did the midget want?" Draco said, examining his nails.

"The midget?" Harry asked, waving his hand in the space above Draco's head. "Is this the pot calling the kettle black, here?" He loved teasing Draco about his height, even though he was merely three inches shorter than Harry.

Draco elbowed him in the side. Harry gave him a playful shove.

"We're going out for drinks," Harry said, as Draco narrowly avoided careening into some man reading the newspaper while he walked.

"What, like a date?" Draco crowed.

"What?" Harry said, laughing.

"Potter's got a date," Draco drawled. "Very cute."

"I don't have an anything," Harry said. "Jealous much?"

"Please," Draco scoffed.

"Where were we again?" Harry said, shading his eyes with his hand as they stepped into the shadowy parking garage.

"E-something," Draco said.

"I think I have fairly good radar for women trying to pick me up," Harry said, as they headed through D toward E.

"You're kidding, right?" Draco said, messing with his sleek hair. "You're completely oblivious, Potter. That's the foundation of your personality. You stumble into things."

"I disagree," Harry said. "Mightily."

They climbed into the car.

"Was it a different color this morning?" Harry said of afore-mentioned car.

"I don't know what nutter spells you let chieftan nutter Weasley put on it," Draco said, "so don't look at me."

Harry stared at the dash apprehensively. "It's going to start talking, I bet."

Draco began flipping through a ream of papers. "So," he said.

Harry wanted to ask him about Lucius, but wasn't sure how he would bring that up.

Luckily, Draco did it by himself. "He's been cleared of charges."

"Your father?" Harry clarified, twiddling the wheel a bit as the car kamikazed toward the curb.

"Who the hell else?"

"Porquoi?" Harry said. He had inadvertently picked up some French from Fleur while staying with her and Bill, and it occasionally strayed into conversation.

"How does my father usually get out of things?" Draco said absently.

"Money? Kinglsey doesn't seem like --"

"Kingsley doesn't own the Ministry," Draco interrupted. "More importantly, the Wizengamot."

"Ah," Harry said. "So bloody sunny lately," he added. "No wonder there's barely anyone in the city in July."

"Your birthday," Draco said. "When is it?"

Harry smiled to himself. Typical. "Thirty-first."

Draco made some mmm-ing noise and continued to leaf through the paper.

* * *

"Hey," Harry greeted Ivanka, who was conversing with toothless Tom at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Oh, hey there," she replied. She didn't look that different at night, Harry mused, only maybe a bit neater.

"You're all spiffy," she noted.

"I had some, ah, fashion advice," he replied with a grin. "So what's this new bar?"

"Well," Ivanka said, motioning he follow her, "it doesn't really have a name. Most people call it Bezoar."

Harry tapped the bricks and escorted her through the hole.

Bezoar itself was dark and packed, with various spells floating through the air and the Weird Sisters thumping underneath the loud thrum of conversation.

They sat at the bar.

"Gillywater," Ivanka told the bartender.

"Brandy," Harry said after a moment of indecision.

"So," Ivanka said, turning to Harry. "Tell me about yourself."

Harry smiled. "I'm really not all that interesting," he confessed.

"You defeated Voldemort," she said, her eyes taking on a moony sheen. "_Twice_. More than twice."

"Well, yes," Harry said uneasily.

"These are all for you," the bartender interrupted them, setting a diverse group of drinks onto the bar in front of Harry. "From several ladies. Enjoy," he said flatly.

"Er," Harry said, slightly lost for words. There must have been at least fifteen drinks in front of him.

"Merlin," Ivanka said. "And I thought they had it bad for you in France."

"They have it bad for me in France?" Harry said.

She just smiled.

"So what did your parents do?" Harry asked her a while later, when they had received enough drinks to build a small fort and were both thoroughly tipsy.

"Well," Ivanka said with a hiccup, "I don't really know. My mother doesn't have a job, except bothering my father, and my father does something he won't tell me about. They weren't exactly what inspired me to be an Auror."

Harry nodded and swiveled on his barstool to face the room.

His loving public, he thought with a wry chuckle. Sometimes, he really wished they didn't love him quite so much.

* * *

"... not what you said before, Blaise."

Harry pushed open the hotel room door to find Draco standing at the table, putting Spellotape on a box, while Blaise Zabini lounged on the sectional.

He raised an eyebrow at Draco.

"I told him everything," Draco said. "We're just doing business. I thought you'd be out longer."

"Business?" Harry said dubiously.

"In a manner of speaking. He hasn't actually managed to sell me anything," said Blaise.

"You don't want to _buy_ anything," Draco said evenly.

"So tell me, Potter," Blaise said with a smirk, "is Malfoy the perpetual bottom I imagine him to be?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. "It's too late at night for more than one Slytherin," he muttered as he poured himself a glass of ice water.

"At least my mother's not a drunken whore with fifty husbands," Draco replied to Blaise, sounding amused.

"No, that's your father, isn't it?" Blaise said with a smile, looking up at Draco from the couch.

"At least I know who my father _is_," Draco shot back. "So, nothing?"

"I guess I'll take that one thing you showed me," Blaise said, getting up, "although, y'know, Borgin --"

"Shh," Draco snapped.

"I hear nothing," Harry said, continuing to sip his ice water.

"Sign," Draco told Blaise, handing him a piece of parchment.

"Night, Malfoy," Blaise said, signing it with a flourish and handing it back. "Night, Golden Boy."

The hotel door clicked shut again.

Harry grinned at Draco. "So I'm not the only one who had a date, then."

Draco smirked and began to undo Harry's tie.

Harry slid his hands through Draco's hair and they stumbled back against the counter, meeting each other's lips as they did.

"Have fun tonight?" Draco breathed, unthreading Harry's belt from the loops.

Harry laughed. "Not _this_ much."

* * *

_A/N: Bonus this chapter. My personal Harry/Draco playlist! :)_

_Gives You Hell -- All American Rejects  
Closer -- Nine Inch Nails  
My Life Would Suck Without You -- Kelly Clarkson  
Ain't No Other Man -- Christina Aguilera  
Forever Man -- Eric Clapton  
Urgent -- Forgeiner  
Perfect (Exceeder) -- Mason vs. Princess Superstar  
Hallelujah -- Rufus Wainwright  
I Got You Babe -- Sunny and Cher  
Faith -- George Michael  
Abracadabra -- The Steve Miller Band_

_Just in case anyone cares. (Does double duty as reccomended listening for DitD/JoM.)_


	5. Audacity

They had gotten into sort of a casual routine of sex.

There was lazy afternoon sex with Draco pressed up against various walls and mirrors and Harry rocking into him slowly, almost tenderly, and frenzied two-in-the-morning sex when both of them were out of their minds with war nightmares and horny beyond all reason.

With routine came more routine, and their lives fell into inevitable pattern, too. Drive to the Ministry. Come home. Paperwork. Room service. It was extremely calming to have a normal (if slightly bromidic) life after the war.

So that was why Harry was perplexed to come back home and find a cat sitting on the couch, because there had never been a cat there before, he was sure.

He had had a long day at the Ministry, and was thinking that getting drunk might not be a terribly bad idea, and had opened the door to find Diagon Alley bags strewn everywhere, a cat sitting on the sectional, and Draco nowhere to be found. He hadn't come with Harry to the Ministry that day, but hadn't mentioned anything about buying out every magical store in London.

"Draco," Harry said loudly, setting his cloak down on the kitchen counter. He found himself alternating between 'Draco' and 'Malfoy' as of late, though Draco himself seemed thoroughly stuck on 'Potter'.

There was no answer. Harry's eyes alighted on the cat.

It had an insanely long coat, all the same creamy-white color, and unblinking grey eyes. It might have been cute under all of that fur, but it was impossible to tell.

Draco stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the small white scar on the bridge of his nose. "Yes?"

"Er," Harry said, gesticulating toward the couch, "what's up with the cat?"

"I wanted a cat," Draco said. "Therefore, I bought one."

"We're in a hotel, though," Harry said. "I mean, what if it, like --"

"Pisses everywhere?" Draco said, sounding amused. He began to rifle through some parchment on the table. He was wearing one of Harry's dress shirts, unbuttoned, and Harry's eyes trailed down his chest.

"Would it?"

"It's a purebred cat," Draco said, rubbing his right temple with his free hand.

"It's purebred," Harry said mockingly. "It still might go psycho. It probably has a better chance of going psycho, being incestuously pureblood, I'm sorry, _bred_."

"Excuse me?" Draco said, smirking at him. "Incestuously isn't even a word, half-blood."

"I believe it is," Harry said.

"I believe it isn't," Draco replied.

"Go get the dictionary, then," Harry challenged him. "Since when did you want a cat? You don't like cats."

"Who said I don't like cats?" Draco said vaguely, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"This is a very high-maintenance cat," Harry said. "Look at the damn thing. You probably have to brush it for an hour every day or something. Maybe you like cats, but I don't."

"I thought you liked high-maintenance things," Draco said, stretching languidly in the chair. Harry heard his back crack.

"That's strictly limited to people," Harry said, "and even then, my tolerance is low. What else did you buy?"

"None of your business," Draco said.

"You went to Borgin and Burkes," Harry noted, kicking at an empty bag on the floor.

"I _returned_ something," Draco replied.

"Bullshit," Harry said, laughing. "They don't give you a bag if you return something."

"Actually, I took it there in the bag, and took it back here empty," Draco said. "I have a headache. Why are you interrogating me?"

Harry walked over to him and wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders from behind. "What's psycho cat's name?"

"Cat," Draco said.

"I like it," Harry purred into Draco's ear. "Too bad you have a headache. I've been looking forward to fucking a Seeker all day."

"Why don't you fuck yourself, then?" Draco said good-naturedly. "I haven't been a Seeker in three years."

"You still have a Seeker _body_, though," Harry murmured.

"Yes," Draco conceded.

"So," Harry said, sliding his hand under Draco's shirt and teasing one of his nipples.

Draco tipped his head back and Harry kissed him.

"We don't even have to go the bedroom," Harry whispered. "We can do it on the sectional, in front of Cat."

"The sex-tional," Draco said, the X slipping from his tongue like water.

They did go to the bedroom, however, and had begun to undress each other when Harry noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

"You bought a Pensieve?" he said, surprised, just as Draco's pants fell to the floor.

Draco grabbed Harry's jaw and dragged his focus back to Draco's mouth. "Does it matter?"

"No," Harry said, but the Auror in him was filing that away for later notice.

When the two of them fell onto the bed, Harry glanced over at the Pensieve glowing in the corner again, curiousity beginning to burn in the back of his mind.


	6. Russian Roulette

"I'll be back around..." Draco checked his expensive-looking watch. "Later," he said. "I don't know. They like to stretch the proceedings on."

"Okay," Harry said. He was lying on the couch in pajamas and slightly dirty socks. He probably should do some laundry today, Harry mused to himself, but when you lived with a bloke, it was sort of hard to keep track of these things. Even when they were fussy as all get out like Malfoy.

Draco closed the door behind him without another word, and Harry was left to listen to his own breathing.

He glanced over at Cat.

He didn't have to go into the Ministry today, as the Aurors-in-training were getting a rare and very appreciated day off.

"Hey," he said to Cat.

Cat looked at him haughtily and let out a long, drawling meow.

Harry stretched and surveyed the hotel room. He was getting ansty to move out of it, lately. He hated the fact that there were no windows; lately, he had been prone to feeling like the walls were closing in on him. He briefly wondered if he had one of those post-war Muggle mental disorders. Probably just anxiety.

Harry shuffled into the bedroom and began to dress. It was a nice day for a walk, he thought, ignoring his quickened breathing and racing heart. He wiped his clammy palms on his trousers after he had pulled them on.

Cat leapt up onto the bed and stared at his bare chest.

"You're a bit creepy, you know," Harry told him.

Cat gave him a weirdly Draco-like look, the one that was a combination of an eye-roll and a sneer.

"Well," Harry said, strolling out of the bedroom as he buttoned his shirt, "I'll be back later. Don't piss on the couch. Excuse me, sectional."

Cat leapt up on the counter and sniffed the coffee pot. Harry batted at him and slipped out of the door.

He stood in the hallway for a moment, wondering where he could go.

He could go to the Regent's. Hermione said it had lovely rose gardens.

Harry hadn't really heard from Hermione lately. He knew from Ron that she was doing something for the Ministry, and trying to get some house-elf liberation legislation passed, but no specifics. He missed her a bit, to be honest.

"Rose gardens," Harry said aloud, and headed toward the elevator.

* * *

When he returned to the hotel room, it was much later, but Draco wasn't back yet.

Harry paced around the room, his heart thumping. He needed to get out, but when he was out, he wanted to be back in and away from the prying eyes of the wizarding world. He tugged his inky hair over his scar.

"I should look in his Pensieve," Harry said out loud.

Cat leapt onto the arm of the sectional.

"He hides things from me," Harry said. "I know he does. He knows Occlumency. He's good at that shit. It's not fair. I can't hide anything."

Cat glowered at him from the couch.

"I wonder where you go to buy a Pensieve," Harry said. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

He started toward the bedroom. Then he turned around.

"Should I?"

Cat just looked at him.

"I'm talking to a cat," Harry said. "Oh, fuck it," he added, more quietly.

He walked into the bedroom and dragged the Pensieve from its corner into the middle of the room. Harry flipped the light switch on and stared at it.

The milky-white thoughts ebbed to and fro underneath him, illuminating his face and bouncing pale light off his glasses. Harry took in a deep breath and leaned forward.

And he fell forever, screaming out, even though this was his second time falling into one of these damned things, and landed in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express.

"Shit," he said shakily, dusting himself off.

Draco was sitting there, biting his lip and glancing at his watch every few seconds. Harry stared at him. He felt a perverse thrill go through his stomach, knowing Draco couldn't see him.

And then Harry himself burst into the compartment.

Harry stared at his younger self apprehensively. Judging by height and shoulder size and awkwardness, this was the beginning of sixth year -- he looked like he was just getting used to being tall, and he moved sort of cautiously, like he was prone to knocking things over.

"Malfoy," the younger Harry said.

The older Harry withdrew into a corner to watch.

"Is it --"

Draco looked paler than usual. He pulled his left sleeve back.

Older Harry's stomach dropped. He remembered this now. _Shit_, he thought, biting his phantom lip.

The Dark Mark stood out against Draco's alabaster skin, the face grinning at the younger Harry horribly.

"Wait, but --" younger Harry stuttered. "Malfoy," he said accusingly.

"I... don't, hold on," Draco said quietly. "I sent Dumbledore a letter."

Younger Harry's eyes searched Draco's face. "And --"

"He said," Draco said, his voice cracking slightly, "that I could..."

He waved his hand helplessly.

"So you're not..." Younger Harry didn't seem to know how to finish his sentence.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"Are you a Death Eater or aren't you?" Harry demanded, and the Harry in the corner sighed wearily.

"Potter," Draco said, "I can't tell you everything, all right? It's not black and white --"

"No, give me an answer," younger Harry said, his voice trembling slightly. He cleared his throat.

"No, I guess I'm not," Draco said.

Harry stared at him. "You guess."

Draco sighed. "I'm an 'informant'."

Bitterness lurked in Draco's eyes. Older Harry's stomach turned.

Younger Harry surveyed Draco warily. "Okay," he said. "I need to get back -- I'll, uh, see you around, Malfoy."

And he strode out of the compartment.

"You're an idiot," older Harry called after himself.

Draco's breathing was heavy. He stood up and punched the glass of the compartment door. It shattered around him.

He staggered back against the seats, nursing his bleeding knuckles.

Older Harry watched from the corner.

And then he was falling again.

This time he landed on a balcony. He rose to his feet and staggered.

The balcony was very high, stories into the air.

Surrounding him was a pitch-black forest. The midnight sky glittered above it as the dark trees waved in the night breeze.

There was a deep sense of foreboding lurking in the shadows. Harry glanced around.

This was Malfoy Manor.

Draco was outlined against the edge of the balcony, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand, peering over the wood railing like he was considering jumping off.

"Potter's gone."

Harry and Draco both wheeled around, Draco more drunkenly so.

Snape was standing there, his coal-black eyes glittering in the darkness.

Harry glanced over at Draco and noticed a slash on the bridge of his aristocratic nose. Blood was dried on his face.

"Or escaped, I should say," Snape said quietly.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Draco slurred.

Harry realized with a jolt that this was the night. The night Dobby had died.

"Bellatrix called me away from Hogwarts," Snape replied, joining Draco at the edge of the balcony. "Considering suicide?"

Draco pushed his blonde hair away from his face. "I don't want to do this anymore," he hissed, his jaw clenched. "I'm putting my life in danger and I don't even get --"

"Thanked?" Snape said, laughing derisively. "Double agent is the most thankless job there is, Draco."

"I hate," Draco began, and stopped.

"Potter?" Snape said, taking the firewhiskey bottle from Draco. "No, you don't," he said. "I've looked in his head. You don't hate him at all."

Draco tensed reflexively.

"You're getting better at Occlumency," Snape noted. "However, Potter isn't."

"Fuck," Draco spat.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Snape said. "That's the last sort of thing the Dark Lord looks for in someone's mind. If he's looking for weaknesses, he might, but he hasn't been close enough to Potter to look in an exceedingly long time."

Draco took in a deep breath of night air.

"You should be pleased," Snape said. "He wears you on his sleeve. I'm frankly astonished no one else has found it yet."

Draco's face was unreadable. "You're in a good mood," he snapped. "Why?"

Snape began to speak again, but Harry was being pulled out of the Pensieve, choking on his own saliva as he staggered out of the misty white bowl of thoughts.

Draco stood over him, arms folded, as Harry drew himself off the hotel bedroom floor.

"I'm sorry," Harry said immediately.

Draco surveyed him impassively.

"Not for looking in your Pensieve, which I am sorry for, but you should --"

"Have known you're an overly curious asshole who can't keep his nose out of my private life? Yes, I did," Draco said. "Continue."

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you," Harry said. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, wiping his glasses on his shirt. "I know how much information you passed to us during the war, I never thanked you, I took you for granted --"

"Yes," Draco spat, "you did."

"-- and I should have... kept in mind that having a Dark Mark doesn't make you a Death Eater," Harry said. "I should have trusted you more. I should have trusted Snape. I should have trusted Dumbledore. And I'm sorry."

"You should be," Draco said. "You have no idea the hell all of that put me through. I had to live three fucking lives at once."

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I did it for you, you know."

"I do know," Harry said, and he grabbed Draco and held him tightly.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Harry whispered, even though he knew the answer.

"I did it for you," Draco repeated, and Harry realized what that meant.

"I love you too," Harry said suddenly.

Draco coughed and separated from him. They looked at each other and began to laugh.

"Let's go to dinner," Harry said. He was suddenly very hungry.

"All right," Draco drawled. "There's a new fancy-ass French restaurant in the Strand. Run by wizards, of course."

"I don't have to wear particularly nice robes, do I?" Harry said.

Draco smirked at him. "You're the Chosen One. You could walk in naked and no one would give a shit."

Harry grinned as he pulled his Muggle trousers off. "Maybe I'll do that, then."

* * *

_A/N: Holy long chapter, Batman! :O_


	7. Angry Young Men

"We're going to be late," Harry called, adjusting his tie.

Draco wandered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. "Late for what?" he demanded. "We didn't make a reservation. What are we going to be late for?"

"What's this place called, again?" Harry said distractedly, running a hand through his messy hair.

"La trop de France," Draco replied, rifling through his luggage. "What should I wear?"

"God, does it _matter_?" Harry snapped, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "You're such a gi--"

Draco straightened up and glared at Harry.

"Can we just go?" Harry repeated.

Eventually Draco got dressed and they Apparated to the restaurant, even though it was merely a few blocks from the hotel. Harry had argued in favor of walking, but lost.

"Very pretentious," Draco commented as soon as they walked in the door. "The food had better be good."

"I don't know, I think it looks okay, decor-wise," Harry said, scratching his head.

Draco snorted. "That's because you've never been to actual France."

"Hello," Harry said to the hostess, a rather plump little woman who had her auburn hair tied up with chopsticks, "could we get a booth?"

"We're a bit full tonight," she said apologetically, "but I'll let you know when something opens up."

She left with a stack of menus and Draco's hand drifted to Harry's ass.

"We're in public," Harry reminded him.

"Who gives a shit?"

"I'm a figure in the media," Harry said defensively. "I care. I'm supposed to care, anyway."

Draco's fingers grazed Harry's crotch and tugged on his belt.

"I will hex you, Malfoy," Harry said, laughing and glancing around nervously at the pretentiously French restaurant. "You're propositioning me. Don't _you_ care? Your parents could be here or something equally horrifying."

"My parents tend not to frequent depressingly lame restaurants such as this one," Draco said. He pulled Harry to him and kissed him very quickly, and released him.

"Mmm," Harry said, kissing him back, after making sure none of the diners were watching.

A few feet away, someone cleared their throat loudly.

Harry turned to see Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger staring at him in a sort of fixated horror. Harry's heart dropped through his chest while simultaneously leaping toward his throat as if it wanted to make a getaway.

"Harry?" Ron said, as if it wasn't a sure thing.

Hermione removed her arm from Ron's waist and made a small, alarmed noise.

"Malfoy," Ron said slowly.

"Last I checked," Draco said coolly.

"Harry," Ron repeated.

"Er," Harry said. Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit. "Why don't we sit down and I'll explain?"

"Yeah, I think you'd better," Ron said, his voice increasing in volume.

"We've got a booth ready for you," the hostess said chirpily, and added, with a tip of her beret toward Ron and Hermione, "will they be joining you?"

"Yes," Harry said. _Shit, _he thought again for good measure.

As soon as they were seated, an effusive young waiter bounded his way over to them. "What can I get you lot to start off with?"

"We will probably be needing," Draco told him, "a lot of booze."

The waiter raised his eyebrows.

"Give me your most expensive wine," Draco said, leaning back against the booth as if he were about to watch the World Cup.

"Ice water," Harry said, taking in a deep breath.

As soon as the waiter had left, Ron turned to Harry, his face stony.

"I should probably start off by coming out of the closet," Harry said quietly, "but I could begin elsewhere if you like."

Ron gaped at him like a fish.

"Harry," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead, "I... I just..."

"Can you excuse us a moment?" Harry said to Draco.

Draco strode away from the table and Harry cleared his throat.

"So you and Malfoy are..." Hermione said, pursing her lips. "Involved in a coital way?"

Harry sighed.

"This doesn't make any sense, mate!" Ron burst out, running a hand through his russet hair. "We hate him!"

"I, uh," Harry said, "I would personally have to disagree with that statement just a bit."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on here?" Ron moaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Oh," Hermione said, tapping her finger on Harry's water glass, "now I get it."

"What?" Harry said.

"You always asked about him," Hermione said. "When we got information, during the war. I didn't understand it, then. It makes sense now."

"Wait, hold on," Ron said. "Hold the fucking fellytone. This has been going on for..."

"Three years," Harry supplied.

Ron looked queasy. He grabbed Harry's water glass and began to drink like it was hundred-proof mead.

Draco slid back into his seat. Harry hadn't even heard him approach.

"Listen, Weasley," Draco said slowly, as if he were talking to a complete moron. "Do you remember that time in sixth year when you caught Harry in the dormitory with his pants down?"

Ron furrowed his brow. "Why... how do you know about that?"

"I was under the bed," Draco said smoothly.

Ron began to choke on Harry's water. Hermione smacked his back.

When he had recovered, he spluttered to Harry, "I thought you were whacking off!"

Harry bowed his head ashamedly. Draco squeezed his thigh.

"Would you like to order now?" the waiter said tentatively, peering at Ron, whose face was redder than a beet. "Our specialty tonight is coq au vin."

"That sounds good," Harry said cheerfully, in a valiant effort to make everything less awkward.

Ron sighed belaboredly. "I think it's best if we, er," he paused and scratched his head. "Harry, let's continue this conversation tomorrow at work."

There was a certain finality in his tone that told Harry he shouldn't exactly been looking forward to tomorrow.

"Right," Harry said. "We will. Sounds good."

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione said, squeezing him.

"It's not my birthday yet, you know," Harry said, hugging her back.

"In case I don't see you," Hermione said, and then whispered in his ear, "you're our best friend no matter what you do, Harry. Just give Ron a few days to calm down."

"Okay," Harry murmured back. "Wait," he said, pulling away, "you two aren't really getting married, are you?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "What the hell gave you that idea?" she said, beginning to laugh. "We're eighteen, Harry!"

"Sort of a vibe I got from Ron," Harry said.

Hermione turned and glared at Ron. He shrugged haplessly.

Harry gave them a minute's head start to depart the restaurant, then he and Draco followed.

"Let's walk back to the hotel," Harry said decisively, as they stepped into the night.

"Oh, Lord," Draco said. "Why? "

Harry slipped his arm around Draco's shoulders. "It's nice out."

Draco snorted. "Whatever, Potter."

"I like being outside at night," Harry said. "That way, no one can see you, but you're not trapped inside either."

"I feel I should tell you you're getting very weird," Draco said.

"I know," Harry said. "Boy, I really fucked that up tonight. That was like... I don't even know. Fairly bad. I thought I'd have way more time to tell them. Fuck, I didn't think I'd _ever_ have to tell them."

Draco was quiet.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Draco said quickly. "Just... how long are we going to be able to do this?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. He stopped walking.

"We have to get back to the real world sometime," Draco said.

"I thought this was the real world," said Harry.

"Not my real world, Potter," Draco said. "My real world is dynastic marriages and networking."

Something in Harry stirred. "In other words, things that don't make you happy."

Draco shrugged.

Harry sighed and started walking again. "Let's just... not talk about until we have to."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Draco said. "A horrible one, but who am I to judge?"

Harry looked up at the half moon as it glittered in the sky and sighed.

* * *

_A/N: You don't REALLY think you can avoid that talk, do you, Harry? ;)_


	8. Getting Nowhere

As Draco sat in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve the general indignity of this one, his father rifled through a list of eligible pureblood bachelorettes as thick as a t-Bone steak.

"You wouldn't happen to have a cigar, would you?" Draco said, not having much hope in the answer.

Lucius ignored this. "What about Astoria Greengrass?"

"What about her?" Draco replied. "Big tits? Can she carry on a decent conversation?"

Lucius lowered the paper and seared him with a glare.

"Well, I mean really, Father," Draco protested, "you expect me to waltz into your house--"

"--your house--"

"--my house, and pick my future wife from a dossier?" Draco demanded, waving one hand emphatically and grabbing his glass of vodka off of the perfectly lacquered coffee table with the other.

"Yes," Lucius said simply. "Because this is how we do things around here, Draco, you're an adult now, you should understand that."

Draco had a strong aversion to being Harry Potter's damsel in distress, but he had to admit there was nothing he wanted better than for Harry, in all his broad-shouldered, Chosen One glory, to burst through the door and carry Draco off to salvation.

The trouble with that was that he hadn't told Harry about the bi-monthly meetings he was having with his father to discuss the course the rest of his life would be taking.

Narcissa slid a coaster under Draco's glass and perched beside him on the couch. "Lucius, do you really think--" she began.

"Shh," Lucius snapped, scratching his head. "You've vetoed _every girl on this list_, Draco," he said.

"I wonder why," Draco said flatly.

Lucius glanced at him. "What?" he demanded. "Draco, as hard as it may be for you to understand, at your tender age -- Narcissa, excuse us a moment."

Narcissa patted Draco's knee and swept out of the room.

Lucius leaned forward. "If you're worried about marriage interfering with your sex life," he said quietly, "don't."

"Thank you," Draco said sarcastically. "I always wanted to hear that from my father. But really," he said, standing up, "I have some things to take care of."

"Like what?" Lucius replied dubiously.

"Send me a letter, all right?" Draco said, striding toward the door.

"Draco--" Lucius began, but Draco was already out into the main foyer.

He paused for a moment when he was out on the veranda, barely paying notice to the manicured grounds spread in front of him, wondering where to Apparate to.

Draco closed his eyes, and a moment later he appeared in the living room of Blaise and Pansy's flat.

Blaise whipped around in his seat. "Oh, Malfoy," he said. "You scared the shit out of me."

Draco leaned against the kitchen counter. Blaise tossed him a freshly rolled joint and Draco caught it and lit it with his wand.

"Best pot this side of Britain," Blaise remarked casually, leaning back and looking up at this ceiling. "Bought it from a Muggle for ridiculously cheap."

Pansy staggered out of the bedroom, clutching a sheet to her chest, wearing only a bright red bra.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise.

"What?" Blaise said defensively. "She's not yours anymore, you queer."

"I guess not," Draco said, inhaling some smoke and holding it in until his eyes watered.

"So what have you been up to, other than sodomy?" Blaise said.

Draco blew a smoke ring at him. "Nothing of consequence. You?"

"I have," Blaise declared, and then stopped. "Pansy, do we have any cookies?"

"No," she said, slinking over to the cabinet behind Draco and rustling through it. Her ass bumped his.

Draco began to cough.

"Old man," Blaise declared from the couch.

"Fuck off," Draco told him.

"Ooh, he's _swearing_ at me," Blaise said in mock agony. "Wouldn't the Golden Boy disapprove?"

Draco thought about his options for comebacks and discarded all of them. "Mmm," was his only reply.

"Draco," Pansy whined, "really, isn't this stupidity over with? You don't _really_... like Potter, do you?"

Draco began to laugh and cough at the same time. "Pansy, my dear dumb bitch, you're on this train about three years too late," he told her, with a flick of the joint and a consoling pat to her arm.

She huffed and returned to the couch, draping her arms over Blaise's neck.

There was a scuffling noise at the door and then it swung open. Theodore Nott strode through, laden with groceries, his wand sticking out of his right robe pocket.

"Malfoy?" Theodore said in surprise, setting the bags down.

"Oh, thank God," Blaise said. "Did you buy cookies? If you didn't buy cookies I swear to God I'll fucking kill you. Did you?"

"Yes, I finally decided to drop in," Draco drawled.

"Isn't his hair pretty?" Pansy said, looking at Draco from the couch. She pouted. "I wish I had his hair."

"Give it up, Pansy," Blaise snapped.

Draco cracked one of his knuckles. He wasn't going to tell Blaise, but he sort of hated pot. It made him stupid and more likely to tell someone something that he shouldn't.

"I should probably be getting back," Draco said.

"To afore-mentioned Golden Boy?" Blaise inquired lazily. "Have fun." He batted at Pansy's thigh and she giggled and pulled the sheet tighter to her body.

Draco rubbed his eyes and sighed, wondering why his life had to be so damn complicated.

* * *

_A/N: Ooh, Draco PoV. Don't worry, though, next time we'll get the full story on Harry and Ron's 'confrontation' at work. Hopefully Percy will be involved. We shall see. _


	9. Yours, Only Yours

Harry followed Ron listlessly as he led him into a small, empty office. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his left eye with the back of his hand. Against the back of his eyelids, a twelve-year old Draco was calling Hermione a Mudblood. A twelve-year old Ron's face twisted with anger and disgust.

Harry sighed and sat down in the chair Ron gestured to.

"I'm sorry," Harry sat immediately.

Ron sat gently down on the edge of the desk. His elbow knocked over a quill holder and he righted it with a flick of his wand. He was quiet, seemingly waiting for Harry to elaborate.

Harry put his hands, palms up, on the desk. "I get how you'd feel... I dunno, betrayed, and all --"

Ron began to laugh. "Harry, mate, we're adults. I don't feel _betrayed_... Merlin, what am I, a girl? That's not why I wanted to talk to you."

"It's not?" Harry said, surprised, pushing up his sleeves.

"No, I'm worried, is all," Ron said. "You haven't been right in the head lately."

"Haven't I?" Harry said, laughing slightly.

Ron nodded. "What was it Hermione said..." he snapped his fingers. "Post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"Post, er, what?"

"You know, like, after the war," Ron said. "She said you 'appear to be disengaging from reality'. She says... the, the uh, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret might have something to do with it."

"Ah," Harry said, leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Does she."

"Because, you know, you have this whole other life you weren't telling anyone about," Ron said accusingly. "She wants to know if you've been having nightmares."

"A few," Harry said, trying to pass it off casually.

"About what?"

Harry touched his forehead self-consciously. Ron watched him.

"Various things. Nothing too bad," he lied.

"We do care about you a lot," Ron said, as if Harry had denied this at some point.

"I know," Harry said. "Thanks." He paused. "You'll have to be civil, you know."

"I am civil," Ron said. "I'm very civil. Civil to who?"

"Dra... Malfoy."

"Oh," Ron said, trying to look unperturbed and failing miserably. "Actually," he replied, "I don't plan to be in the same room with the ferret often, so I think civility is sort of a non-issue."

"Mmm," Harry said.

"Listen," Ron told him. "I don't give a flying arse --"

"A flying arse?" Harry repeated, amused.

"I mean, I don't give a damn who you're dating, Harry, as long as you're not going to turn into a nutter anytime soon."

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry assured him.

"Good," Ron said, standing up. "We should be getting back," he said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Harry nodded and they left the small office together.

* * *

When Harry returned to the hotel, he found two owls sitting outside their room.

One of them was an eagle owl, and the other was Hermes, Percy's owl.

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked at them for a moment. He really hoped they hadn't been out here long where any passing Muggle could see them.

He accepted two letters from both of them and nudged the door open with his toe while he opened Percy's letter.

"Dear Harry," Harry read aloud as he stepped across the threshold. "Father would like to know if you are planning to live in Grimmauld Palace, and if so, if you would go through some of the documents there with him at some point. Regards, Percy."

It was one of the shortest letters he'd ever received, and the rest of the page was taken up with his flowery signature and official Ministry stamping.

Cat wound his way around Harry's feet and meowed.

The second letter was addressed to Draco from his father. Harry slid his fingers over the creamy envelope, and on a split second of intuition, tore it open.

He slid the letter out gently. It was delicate-looking, although Lucius's handwriting was dark and slid across the page self-importantly, taking up as much space as possible. Harry quickly skimmed the letter.

His eyes landed on a sentence and he backtracked to get it in context.

Harry's stomach tightened with every rereading.

_Draco,_

_You told me to send you a letter, hence, this letter. I'm well aware that we met merely hours ago, but your mother and I will need to talk to you again shortly. I understand it's hard to grasp the idea of marrying a woman you've never met, but you have a lot more say in it that some (for instance, me) have, and you should be grateful, not running off every time we try to speak seriously to you about it. Purebloods are dying out, Draco. _

_I expect a response._

_Lucius._

Harry sighed and began to fold the letter into halves, intending to rip it up, when Draco stumbled through the door.

Draco noticed the look on Harry's face and began to retreat back into the hallway. Harry seized him by the arm.

"What is this about?" Harry demanded, waving the letter in Draco's face. Draco pulled it out of his hand and read it quickly.

He swore under his breath and tossed it to the side. "I'm not actually looking for a wife, Potter," Draco said wearily.

"What are you doing, then?" Harry said.

"I don't know, but can you let go of me?" Draco said, jerking out of Harry's grasp.

Harry's nose wrinkled. "You've been drinking. Why am I not surprised?"

"Excuse me?" Draco snapped.

"What the fuck is this _about_, then?" Harry said, sitting down. "And don't make me repeat myself."

"They want to arrange my marriage," Draco said. "Didn't you know that? That's how things work in my world, Potter."

"I knew that," Harry replied, "I just didn't think you were going to _let_ them." He felt cold, suddenly, which made no sense, because it was July. A chill worked its way down his spine and he rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of it.

"What about me?" Harry said. "Is that what you were getting at last night? You want to get rid of me? Because I promise, I'm not going to make it easy for you, Malfoy."

Draco folded his arms on the tabletop and buried his face in them.

"I wish you'd talk to me once in a while," Harry said. "Listen, If you haven't got the backbone to stand up to your own parents, then fuck, _I'll_ do it. But I'm not letting you..."_ Go,_ he thought. "Off the hook this easy."

He heard muffled laughter. Draco's shoulders shook slightly.

"What?" Harry replied.

"I find it hilariously ironic that you want to solve all my problems," Draco said, sitting up, "when you're the cause of all problems in my life in the first place."

"Am I?" Harry said sarcastically. "How awful of me."

Draco smirked. "And just how are you planning to fix my life, Potter?"

"I'll think of something," Harry told him.


	10. I'll Be

"I was thinking there'd be something of consequence in here," Arthur Weasley said, taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose, "but Sirius, great man that he was, was a sodding incompetent at keeping his files organized."

Harry nodded and glanced around the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. It was still odd, even three years later, to think of it as his. This was Sirius's house, Sirius's things.

"So, Harry," Arthur continued, "what much do you know about Regulus?"

"Well," Harry said, sliding his hands into his pockets, "he was killed on Voldemort's orders, and he switched out the lockets."

Arthur seemed to wait for an elaboration. When Harry offered none, he prompted:

"Anything else?"

"He was the younger brother," Harry said, "and according to Sirius, a ginormous prat. I don't know much else."

"Ah," Arthur said, opening a cabinet full of delicate glass figurines and opening one of the drawers. Harry's cabinet. Harry's drawers.

Harry got that feeling again of being cold in a warm room. He wondered if his neurons were getting crossed or something. A shiver ran its way down his spine.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Well," Arthur said distractedly, "you know, paperwork in general. Mostly just to keep the Ministry happy -- after the last war, you know, they wanted all the paperwork from the Order they could get their hands on. It's bureaucracy at work, Harry, you're starting out in the Ministry, you'll know soon enough."

Harry roamed the halls aimlessly until he found the room with the Black family tree in it.

He slid his fingers along the embroidered branches until he came to Draco.

The last time he had been in this room, Harry thought with amusement, he had hated Draco with a passion. Maybe he still did, sometimes. Maybe a part of him always would.

But wasn't that what caring about someone was? Not glossing over their flaws, but acknowledging they exist and loving the person for the good?

That was something these supremacists could never do. They bred for blood, and not who the person was inside. What their soul contained.

It would be easy to lose yourself, Harry thought, brought up like that. He didn't blame Draco for it; on the contrary, he directed all his rage at Lucius and Narcissa and the whole damn pureblood... _cult..._ for brainwashing a clever, engaging and spirited young man who was never going to live up to his full potential.

With a small sigh, Harry dropped his hand and returned to Arthur, who was rooting through a desk.

"Harry, help me, here," Arthur said, and Harry placed his hand in the desk, too.

"I can't quite reach whatever that paper is," Arthur told him. "Can you? I think your arms are a bit longer."

Harry leaned forward and just as his shoulder felt like it was about to dislocate, he got a grip on the parchment and slid it out.

"Doesn't look like anything to me," Harry said, pushing his glasses up.

Arthur turned it over. "Perhaps..." he muttered, and tapped it a few times with his wand. "_Aperio_!"

Nothing happened.

"Well, Harry," Arthur mused, "we might want to call it a day, huh?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Sorry we didn't find much. If you'd like me to look more --"

"It's fine, Harry," Arthur said. "Molly wants to have you for dinner sometime, so whenever you get a chance..."

Harry nodded and shook hands with Arthur, and Apparated home.

When his feet landed on solid ground, he unlocked the door of room number 653.

Draco was standing in the middle of the room, head tilted, a smirk on his lips, dressed in only a pair of what looked like edible underwear and leaning on his old Nimbus 2001.

It was a lot to take in at once, so Harry stood there a moment, his eyes flicking up and down Draco's body.

"Bloody hell," Harry commented, running a hand through his hair.

"I find it a bit strange that the Weasley twins sell edible underwear," Draco said, "but then again, they are Weasleys, and therefore not subject to reality."

Harry grinned. "Nice broom."

"I figured you might like the irony," Draco drawled.

Harry approached Draco and knelt at his feet. He took the underwear in his teeth and tore a strip down the length of Draco's cock.

Draco slid his hands into Harry's hair, holding onto Harry's skull as his tongue worked over the place where thigh met crotch. He turned Draco around gently and licked up the length of his ass until the heat of his tongue had melted through the confectionary and all that was left was a sweet, fruity taste in his mouth and the glide of Draco's bare ass against his lips.

Harry turned him around again, and Draco gripped Harry's shoulders as Harry began to lick and suck in earnest. Draco let out a guttural moan and his hold on Harry's shoulders tightened.

Harry continued to tease up and down the length of Draco until he was slick with precome.

Draco orgasmed shortly after, swearing as he did, and Harry flicked his wand and whispered "_Scourgify_" a few times. When he was finished, he sat back, legs bent under him.

Draco slid on a pair of boxers -- Harry's boxers, actually -- and knelt down next to Harry, leaning his head on his shoulder in a rather surprising display of tenderness. Harry ran a hand up and down Draco's thigh, enjoying the friction against his palm.

"What are you going to do?" Draco said, his tone oddly blunt and businesslike

"Concerning what?" Harry replied.

Draco nudged him with a sharp shoulder blade. "Obtuse much, Potter?"

"Oh," Harry said. "I don't know. Why are you assuming I'm going to fight your battles?"

"You know you will."

"I do," Harry said. "It's just not polite to presume." He yawned idly.

"I don't know what you think you're going to do, anyway," Draco remarked. "I _need_ an heir."

"Get some pureblood girl pregnant and run off with me to the South Seas," Harry said, deadpan. "There's your heir."

"Society doesn't tend to look kindly upon that kind of thing," Draco said. "Also, I'm not particularly fond of the beach. Never have been."

Harry chuckled. "The plan is a work in progress."

"It had better be," Draco said, sliding his fingers up underneath Harry's watch and against his pulse.

They sat there together for fifty beats, and then got up to order dinner from room service, the cogs in Harry's brain turning the entire time.


	11. Track Record

"Happy birthday," Draco said offhandedly as he summoned himself a cup of coffee from the counter with a languid movement of his wand and sat down across from Harry, opening the_ Daily Prophet_.

Harry looked up in surprise. "You remembered," he said, grinning.

"I wrote it down," Draco drawled.

Draco looked at Harry over the brim of his mug and decided then not to tell Harry that was going to have lunch that afternoon with Adaliz Yaxley; orchestrated by his father, of course.

"I would like you to get to know her," Lucius had said.

"In a biblical sense?" Draco had replied.

"I would appreciate it if you would not make this more difficult for me than it already is," Lucius snapped, his grey eyes glinting.

So Draco had shut up.

He rubbed his neck idly and sighed. Sleep last night had been exceptionally hard to come by. Harry had started a rather annoying habit of screaming in his sleep, but Draco wouldn't have slept anyway.

He had laid there for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, thinking about the lack of control he had over his own life.

"You okay?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

Fuck you and your stupid green eyes and your beautiful torturedness and your inability to fit into the life I'm supposed to live, even if it's not my life if you're not in it, Draco thought. "Is that a question?"

"Yes?"

"No."

"Well," Harry said, sliding the section with the Quidditch scores out of Draco's grip, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Fuck off," Draco said, with the simple eloquence that only a Malfoy could put into those two syllables.

"Something wrong?" Harry said. "Damn, the Holyhead Harpies are getting _hammered_ this season."

Draco snorted. "You don't care," he said.

"Don't start pulling that martyr shit with me," Harry said. "Is something wrong, though?" he said, a note of concern in his voice.

Draco stood up, shaking the _Prophet. _It made a satisfying crinkling noise. "My life is just fucking peachy," he said, tossing the paper to Harry, who fumbled to catch it with one hand, the other firmly gripping his coffee cup.

Draco slipped into the bedroom and rifled through his suitcase.

If he was going to have lunch with someone he didn't give a damn about -- and in fact, deeply resented -- he might as well look good.

* * *

"Hello," Adaliz greeted Draco. She was standing outside the ridiculously fancy restaurant Lucius had recommended, dressed in immaculately tailored black robes. Her dark hair was pulled back severely and her lips were pursed in a familiar expression of disdain.

Draco made a noncommittal noise.

They were seated quickly, and Adaliz scrutinized him as if he were a dried dragon shank hanging in the window of the Apothecary.

"Your father was correct," she said airily, sliding her silk napkin into her lap. "You're very good-looking."

Draco let out a sharp little laugh.

Adaliz wasted no time in beginning to ramble endlessly about things Draco, at this current point in time, could not move himself to give a shit about, like box seats at the World Cup and moonlit broomrides over Paris with mysterious brooding Italian wizards and how it was a shame how many good pureblood boys had gone to jail for 'slipping up' during the war.

Draco sat there and pretended to listen while he thought about Harry Potter inside him to slow his pounding heart while the yolk on his steak tartar stared up at him like an all-knowing eye.

It wasn't until she said "I like April for a wedding, don't you?" that he slammed his chair back, bit out "excuse me" and headed for the bathroom.

He pushed past two wizards discussing the legalization of magic carpets and raced into the nearest empty stall and vomited.

Draco rested his forehead on the porcelain.

He knew he was a coward. He _knew_ that, and he was comfortable with it. It was an integral part of his personality. Why should he have to change that now?

"Damn you to _hell_, Potter," Draco hissed, lighting a loose cigarette that had been in his pocket for a while with his wand.

He took a deep drag off of it and sighed, breathing smoke out his mouth and leaning against the wall.

Who was he anymore? He didn't smoke. He didn't even used to drink that much; just as much as a good Slytherin should, occasionally getting plastered from the cognac his father kept in his desk when he got his exam results back.

Draco had no control over his life. What was worse, he knew it.

He hadn't wanted to be a spy in the war. He wanted to fly under the radar. He wanted to be left alone to brood and talk shit about people with Blaise.

He wanted to be with Potter, but Potter had been off saving the world.

Draco snorted angrily, stubbing out his cigar on the wall and tossing it in the toilet.

"Thank God," Adaliz said drily when he sat back down, "I was about to send the waiter in after you."

She studied him a minute.

"You look pale."

"I am pale," Draco snapped. "Where were we?"

"My grandmother got married when she was sixteen," Adaliz said. "It was customary back then."

"That's good to know," Draco said sarcastically. "If you want me to be honest, I have no intention of marrying you. I'm doing this to humor my father."

"Are you considering someone else?" Adaliz said.

"Yes," Draco said, "but unfortunately, he's not a pureblood."

Adaliz choked on her pinot noir.

Draco stood up. "That was lovely," he drawled, "and I hope to never see you again. Good afternoon, Ms. Yaxley."

And with that, he left the restaurant.


	12. Coming True

Draco had taken the opportunity of being called on the carpet by his parents to go through his father's desk.

He was looking for something decently incriminating at first, to call some attention away from himself, but he hadn't found much and was now rifling through the drawers out of pure curiousity.

The last thing he expected to find was a picture of Harry's mother.

It was black and white, and didn't move, so it must not have been developed magically.

Draco's eyebrows knitted. He knew what Lily Potter looked like from the photo album Harry kept in his dresser drawer, next to the Bible that was customarily somewhere in the hotel room.

But he had no idea why she would be _here_, in a drawer stuffed with paperwork and letterheads.

"What's this?" Draco said, sauntering into the parlor where his father was reading the paper.

Lucius looked up and surveyed him haughtily from behind reading glasses. "Are you going to tell me what the hell you said to Adaliz or not?" he demanded.

"No," Draco replied. He tossed Lucius the faded picture. "What is this?" he repeated.

Lucius picked it up and laughed. "Oh," he said. "Yes, I remember this."

He folded the paper and set it on the coffee table, beckoning Draco over. Draco perched on the arm of his chair.

"Severus and I got drunk once," Lucius said. "He showed me this picture, asked me if that wasn't the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I said yes, and she looked familiar, who was she? He told me she was that Mudblood, Lily Evans."

Lucius paused and patted Draco on the knee. "I kept the picture without realizing. Put it in my pocket, and then, years later, put it in my desk and forgot about it. A few weeks ago I found it again and thought about Severus and couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

"Wait," Draco said. "Why would Snape..."

"He loved her," Lucius said, snorting derisively. "_Why,_ I couldn't tell you. Ridiculous. Now, Severus didn't come from a great family, but he certainly deserved better than pining after a Muggle-born for his entire life. Absolutely hated James Potter -- with good reason, he was an asshole -- and I used to help him come up with ways to torture him. Never succeeded, though, as Potter had that band of pathetic followers to protect him. I asked him why once, and he said something about her eyes."

Draco smirked. "Green eyes _are_ nice," he said, mostly to himself.

"What the hell did you say to her?" Lucius repeated. "You know, I don't have to give you a choice. I could have arranged your marriage from birth, but I must be a masochist, because here I am fielding wayward owls from fathers of women you're repeatedly scorning. They're all beautiful women, Draco, cultured and intelligent like you are, and you should be jumping at the chance to marry them. Instead, you're suddenly balking and giving me hell about something you've known about since you were ten years old."

"Can I go?" Draco said. "I do have things to do, Father, I do have a life."

"Go, then," Lucius said. "Be here next Thursday at nine."

* * *

"Did you know Snape was in love with your mother?" Draco said the moment he walked in the door.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" Harry said, closing it behind him.

"Time is money," Draco said as Harry sat back down at the kitchen table. "Did you?"

"Yes, in fact I did," Harry said, sounding amused.

"That's not fair," Draco whined. "Why does he get to be in love with your mother and I don't get to be... I don't get to be with you?"

Harry smiled. "Your father didn't need an heir out of Snape."

"I hate this," Draco said. "I used to get whatever I asked for out of my parents. I used to be able to do whatever the hell I felt like. Why can't I have the only thing I actually _want_?"

"Parents only spoil their children when think they stand to gain something from it," Harry said wisely. "And that was more bribery, I think. Your father's good at bribing people."

He pulled Draco into his lap. Draco played with the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and breathed on his ear.

"You want me?" Harry murmured. "You can have me."

A little thrill went through Draco's stomach. "How's your plan coming?" he drawled, shifting around on Harry's lap just so.

"You_ tease_," Harry said. "I don't know. Am I supposed to poof up an heir for you? Does parthenogenesis run in your family? Because I don't know."

"I could hire someone to carry on the family name," Draco said. "At the moment, I don't even care. I need to be fucked. It's imperative."

Harry stood up, sliding Draco to his feet. "I think I can handle that," he said.

"I know you can," Draco said. "I felt what was going on in your lap, Potter. Grab the lube, would you?"

And he sauntered into the bedroom.

Harry followed shortly after, setting the lube on the nightstand with a definitive _thunk_ and crawling into bed next to Draco.

Draco began undoing the buttons of his shirt painfully slowly, then sliding it off his shoulders.

He traced a finger down Harry's chest, following the soft, slim trail of black hair down to his crotch, then sliding the zipper open just enough.

"Go ahead," Draco said, rolling over onto his stomach, which served double duty to hide his own erection. Not that he was modest, but he didn't want Harry to think he had to go down on him. He just wanted to lie there.

Draco would let himself be powerless with Harry. But he was the only one.

* * *

_A/N: Short chapter, I know. Feel free to come to my house and roast me on a spit so I can atone for my sins of short-chapter-nosity._


	13. Timespace

The first thing Harry noticed on Thursday morning, as the Aurors in training gathered around, was that most of them were staring at him.

Occasional whispers broke the silence that had settled over the room. Unnerved, Harry found Ron and whispered, "What the_ hell _is going on?"

"I don't know, mate," Ron said. He looked vaguely disturbed. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder and he turned around warily.

It was Tonks. She motioned he follow her and retreated to her office.

"Harry--" she said quietly as soon as the door had shut behind them.

Harry studied her desk. There was a picture of Teddy, but none of Lupin. His stomach twisted slightly.

Tonks handed him a copy of the _Prophet_. He furrowed his eyebrows at her.

"Just read it, please."

Harry's palms prickled with sweat and his stomach began to churn with anxious anticipation. He folded the paper over itself and read the headline.

"Fucking hell," he hissed.

There it was, in bold, in print. A picture of him and Draco.

Kissing, but there was a hint of so much more. Harry's hand was sliding in a proprietary way over Draco's ass, and Draco was smirking in that horribly familiar manner. Like he was on top of the world.

He couldn't even read the headline, it was swimming in front of his eyes.

Harry dropped the paper. A breath that had been a long time coming cut into his lungs like a hot knife.

"If it's faked, Harry," Tonks whispered, "you have a hell of a case against the _Prophet_ -- but Harry... It's faked, isn't it?"

"Christ," Harry said. "Tonks, I need to go."

"You... Harry," Tonks said, grabbing his arm. "Harry, don't, where--"

But Harry wasn't listening. He was already striding out of her office, ignoring the hot stares on his back from the other Aurors.

The fountain fell in glittery waves as he passed. He paused and looked at it as if it had some answers, as if it could direct him to an alternate universe where it would be perfectly socially acceptable to date Draco Malfoy.

_Shit, shit, shit_, he thought, breaking into a hasty trot, and not stopping until he reached the parking garage.

The second he got in the swishy car, it began to back out, as if it could sense his haste.

Harry laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

As soon as he was back at the hotel, he broke into a run, pushing past the bellhop and various people in the lobby until he was sufficiently out of eyesight, then ducking behind a pillar and Apparating into his room upstairs.

Ink was splattered across the kitchen table, Cat was sitting on the counter peering at him curiously, and Draco was nowhere to be seen.

"Draco," Harry shouted, with no hope that he would actually be there. "God damnit," he barked, shoving a pile of papers off of the table. They fluttered around his feet. Cat meowed in fear and leapt off the counter, running out of the room.

Harry groaned and slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. "Where would you _be_?" he muttered.

He sat up as it dawned on him. That was the last place he wanted to go, and he didn't know if he could Apparate there, as the last time he'd seen it he had been dragged there by Snatchers -- but he knew Draco was there. Where else would he be?

"Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking pogo stick," Harry breathed, standing up and preparing to Apparate. He glanced over as Cat slunk back into the room. "Why is it that when my life starts to get better, it gets worse?"

Cat stared at him in response, and Harry closed his eyes as his molecules shifted through timespace.

When he opened them, he was looking at the stately, ambling courtyard of Malfoy Manor.

"To paraphrase Tonks... Wotcher," Harry muttered as he stepped over an albino peacock and headed for the porch, adorned by enormous marble columns.

Harry ascented the porch and knocked the large brass gargoyle four times.

There was a scurry from behind the door and it opened slowly.

Kreacher stood there, blinking up at Harry dourly.

"Kreacher?" Harry said, slightly alarmed.

"Potter ordered Kreacher to return in servitude to the living blood relatives of the members of the House of Black, does Potter not recall?" Kreacher wheezed.

"Oh, yeah, that," Harry said. "Listen, Kreacher, can you tell me what's going on in there?"

Kreacher frowned at him. "Kreacher does not take orders from the Potter boy any longer," he huffed. "Lots of screaming at the youngest Malfoy," he muttered to himself. "Potter's name crops up frequently."

"Damnit," Harry said. "You'd better let me in, Kreacher."

"Kreacher finds himself lacking in amusement as of late," Kreacher told Harry. "Kreacher no longer is allowed to sleep with Mistress Black's undergarments. Will letting the Potter boy in amuse Kreacher?"

"Knowing your sense of humor, yes," Harry said. "Let me in."

Kreacher surveyed him blankly. "If it means Potter will leave Kreacher alone, then by all means," he said, swinging open the door. Harry slipped through the entryway and toward the parlor. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Narcissa dropped a tray laden with china teaware onto the hardwood floors. Lucius and Draco didn't notice, they were both staring at Harry like he was the Bloody Baron.

"Oh look," Lucius said, his voice low and silky, "look who it is. It's _Potter_. Come to debase my family name even more, Potter? It's not enough that you land me in jail once, almost do it a second time, you have to get my last name in all of the papers by leading my son into your sick, faux-homosexual web of _lies?_"

"Nice speech," Harry said. "I came for my roommate, actually, as he owes me for a week of living in a suite under my expense."

A house elf scurried into the room and began to clean up the tea set Narcissa had dropped. She sank into a chair.

"Harry," Draco said quietly.

Lucius stared at Harry, loathing written all over his face in his effusive handwriting. "You," he spat. "You're why he doesn't want to... Well, Potter, this charade stops today. I don't know what you think you're trying to pull, what ulterior motive you have, but it ends... now."

"I don't think so," Harry replied, working to keep his voice even. "You see, Lucius, I'm fairly tired of having people I care about taken away by Death Eaters and their, what's the word, ilk."

"He's mine to take away, he's my son," Lucius hissed. "You have no right to even be in my house, Potter."

"Then I'd be happy to be shown the way out," Harry said. "But he's coming with me." He jerked his head in Draco's direction.

Draco made a sudden, compulsive movement.

"I will disown you in a heartbeat, Draco," Lucius said without even turning around, his gaze still locked on Harry.

"You wouldn't," Draco scoffed. "It wouldn't look good socially."

"Lucius, leave," Narcissa said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Lucius said slowly, turning toward her.

"Leave for a moment, please, my dear husband," Narcissa repeated, her voice sweet, but her tones clipped and harsh.

No one seemed to know what to do. The house elf still hadn't left; she hovered near the doorway, a dustpan full of shattered china in one of her tiny, wrinkled brown hands.

"I will be back in less than a minute," Lucius said, shooting his wife a suspicious glare. "I expect Potter to be gone and you to be sitting in the exact same place, Draco."

As soon as he had left, Narcissa locked the door behind him.

"Do you love Potter?" she asked Draco, raising one impeccably groomed blonde eyebrow at him.

Draco looked very uncomfortable. "Yes," he drawled, sinking a little lower in his chair, as if he had just admitted to whacking off in the house of the Lord.

"Then go," Narcissa said. "Your father's expecting you to, anyway, I don't know who he thinks he's fooling. Take care of my son, Potter, please."

"What?" Harry said, utterly bemused. "What -- we're just supposed to leave? Where the hell am I supposed to go?"

"That's not my problem, Potter," Narcissa snapped. "Punky will show you the exit."

Draco leapt from the chair as if shocked, grabbed Harry by the arm, and pulled him toward the entryway. The house elf who still had the dustpan in her hand closed the door behind them.

They stood on the porch for a minute.

"What just happened?" Harry said quietly.

"I don't know," Draco muttered. "I think I'm emancipated. I don't know."

"Where am I going to go?" Harry repeated. "I... the entire wizarding world is looking at me. You too. We are fucked. We are really, seriously, royally fucked."

"Is it that bad?" Draco said, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"You don't get it, Malfoy," Harry said, laughing mirthlessly. "I'm Harry Potter, you know? They're all looking to me like I'm this beacon of hope and perfection and now I'm off screwing around with a Death Eater."

"Informant," Draco insisted.

"You think the readers of the _Prophet_ are going to make that distinction?" Harry said. He began to walk away. "Come on," he said to Draco.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Draco said, following him. "Potter," he said when Harry didn't respond.

"I think I need a vacation," Harry said, laughing at how stupid it sounded even as he said it. He slid an arm around Draco's waist. "So do you."

"Does this have anything to do with your South Seas plan?" Draco said. "Because I've neglected to have sex with any girls as of late, so it's half unaccomplished already."

"Nah, not South Seas," Harry said. "I'm thinking more South of France."

And with that, the two of them left the gates of Malfoy Manor.

* * *

_A/N: Next time, on JoM: Magical ferries! More subtle references to Einstein's theory of relativity and how it relates to Apparation! Sex! Mostly unclothed Draco! More sex!_


	14. Terms Of Endearment

"La Ciotat," Harry read aloud.

"La what?" Draco demanded, pulling the map out of his hands. He tapped his wand where Harry's thumb had been a moment ago. "See-oh-_tah_, not see-a-tit, you cretin."

"It's in the Mediterranean," Harry said, grinning. He had never been out of Britain in his life -- well, no, that was wrong, but Hogwarts didn't count -- and he felt bubbly. Light. Like he had nothing left to give or lose.

"Very large wizarding population," Draco said. "Thank God." He thrust the map back. "I can't believe you talked me into this."

They were standing at the edge of the world, it felt like, but it was really the edge of Britain; somewhere near Lowestoft, next to a ferry that had been cited in one of Harry's old schoolbooks as a form of transcontinental travel. Fast, at least twelve times faster than any Muggle way of transport, and after gauging Draco's reaction ("What the hell is a _plane_?") Harry had decided this would be how they were going to get wherever they were going.

It worked on the same principles as Apparation, and fifteen minutes into the trip, the ferry disappeared and reappeared on the other side of France.

"Well, you didn't have to come," Harry said cheerfully, knowing full well Draco would follow him to the ends of the earth, bitching the entire way.

"You didn't even tell the Ministry goons where you were going," Draco said. "This is unprecedented, Potter, you're the responsible one. You start shirking and watch, the universe falls to dischord. This hotel we're staying in had better have housekeeping."

"Will you relax? We're going to France, not Mars," Harry said. "It's only for a few days, anyway."

"All right, everyone, get your asses on board," the gruff, salt-stained ferryman yelled, stroking his greying and scrubby beard and surveying them all with a keen eye.

A prim woman in midnight robes was the first to climb onto the ferry and grab hold of the railing. The other witches and wizards mumbled amongst themselves and followed suit.

"I thought you loved France," Harry said. "They're all as uptight and prissy as you are -- don't you dare hex an Auror, Malfoy, they'll send you to Azkaban for that."

Draco pocketed his wand. "Why do I put up with you?" he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

"Good question," Harry said. "I've got a better one. Why do _I _put up with _you_?"

"First ferry trip?" the ferryman barked as he meandered over to them, chewing a toothpick.

"Yes," Harry said simply, sliding the map into his back pocket.

"I figured," he replied, looking Harry and Draco up and down. "You look like city lads. 'Specially _you_," he said with an amused snort, motioning to Draco with a sun-freckled, beefy arm.

Draco went slightly pink, opened and closed his mouth several times, and finally settled for turning his attention to the sea spread out in front of them.

The ferryman moved on and turned to address everyone.

"In about five minutes, 'ere," he shouted, "you'll experience a sensation like you just Apparated, but about twelve times worse."

The ferry itself was tiny, not like the others Harry had seen in the Dursley's magazines, which looked like entire ocean liners themselves. Their ferry was like a large wooden raft cast out to sea, held together by magic, spit, and a whole lot of luck.

Harry had braced himself so well that when it actually happened, he was surprised. He felt like he was being pulled down a tube for a moment and then there was sort of an empty feeling in his stomach, and when he opened his eyes, his surroundings had changed.

He stumbled a bit in surprise, but no one else on the ferry seemed even remotely perturbed, including Draco, who was examining his nails in a very bored manner.

"Shit," Harry muttered, righting himself and looking out at the gorgeous landscape in front of him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ferryman announced, "welcome to La Ciotat."

Beaches sprawled lazily in front of them, adorned by rocky bluffs in the background. Civilization crept behind the edge, and Harry could see several hotels from where he stood as they pulled into a small harbor.

"Get a lot of wizards around here this time of year," the ferryman grunted as he flicked his wand. A rope threw itself to the dock and began tugging them in. "Not sure why. You lot should have plenty of company, though. Have midnight duels on the beach and all that. Bit crazy in August, as a matter of fact."

"Enthralling," Draco said sarcastically.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Midnight duels?" He poked Draco in the side. "Remember first year?"

Draco snorted. "_Oui oui_."

They checked into the nearest wizard-serving hotel, Draco giving the man at the front desk his Gringotts vault number, and threw their suitcases in disarray in the general direction of the bed. Well, Harry did; Draco made a rather helpless noise in the back of his throat and muttered something about blood pressure.

"I had to get out of there, you know?" Harry said, flopping onto the bed and looking up at the ceiling. "Everyone's been looking at me since the war ended, and now they're passing judgment on me, too."

Draco ran his hand through his white-blond hair. "Poor Potter," he said in a mocking whimper, "everyone's paying attention to you. How _do_ you stand it?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said reflexively. "I don't want to think about it anymore. We're on vacation. Time to live a little."

"Shacklebolt's going to_ slaughter _you," Draco said smugly. "They're setting off Dr. Filibuster's down on the beach tonight."

"That sounds fun," Harry said, rolling over and looking up at Draco. "Are we going?"

"I assumed so," Draco said, stretching like a cat and bending down to meet Harry's lips.

Harry slid his hands through Draco's hair and held his head there. His tongue gently entered Draco's mouth, exploring it as if it were uncharted territory, even though he had been in this place many times.

Draco's hand was resting on Harry's shoulder, his warm weight closing the space between their bodies. When Harry was just getting comfortable, Draco straightened up and smirked at him. "I'm going to take a shower," he said.

Harry ruffled Draco's hair, because he knew he hated that. "I hate you. Can I come in with you?"

Draco swayed his hips as he padded into the bathroom, tossing his watch at Harry. "No," he said.

"I'm about to go into an apoplectic fit of horniness," Harry called after him, but the water turned on a second later and any response Draco had was drowned out.

Harry twirled Draco's watch around a few times on one of his fingers. The inner metal was still warm from where it had been pressed against Draco's wrist.

When Draco had left the shower, the first thing he said was, "What should I wear?"

"It's the beach," Harry said. "In August. So I wouldn't go with, you know, one of your black turtlenecks."

Draco scowled at him. "What, then?"

Harry tossed him a pair of jeans that had been cut off at the knee.

Draco held them up and looked at Harry like he had lost his mind right there on the bed.

"What?" Harry said, laughing. "You can't be a fashion plate all the time, Malfoy. It's like ninety degrees outside."

"Well, what am I supposed to wear as a shirt?" Draco spluttered.

"Er, nothing?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

"I swear to God, Potter," Draco hissed. "Fine. Whatever." He stormed back into the bathroom holding the jeans.

"You know, for a complete manwhore, you have a lot of inhibitions," Harry said loudly, and then ducked a wadded up towel that Draco had aimed at his head.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, I lied. No sex this time. Next chapter! *cues Batman theme*_


	15. Nights Like These

_A/N: Recommended listening for this chapter: On A Night Like This - Dave Barnes._

* * *

The firecrackers were already being set off when Harry and Draco stepped out of the lobby of the hotel. It was so close to the beach that the moment they left, their feet had hit sand.

"See, I told you," Harry said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Everyone else is as scantily clad as we are."

"Disgraceful," Draco said. "Especially since most of these people aren't particularly attractive."

"Say that a little louder, would you?" Harry said.

They began to meander down the beach. A purple and green pinwheel exploded against the sunset, which was spreading deep pink across the sky as the sun sank into the distant sea. Someone shrieked and tossed a firework up into the air, then shot red sparks after it with their wand. Low laughter rumbled across the small crowd gathered near the one end of the beach. Harry steered Draco away from that area, toward a small spot of sand that was only a few feet away from the lapping surf but partially hidden by a tangle of vegetation. He sat down in the sand and grinned up at Draco lewdly.

"I guess that clears up where this evening is going," Draco remarked drily, sitting carefully down beside Harry.

"What, you have a problem with us just having sex for an entire weekend?" Harry said, rolling over and into Draco's lap.

"No," Draco replied, and they wrestled in the sand for a little bit before opening into another kiss, this one as wide and endless as the sea before them. Draco was on top of him for once, and Harry was perfectly content with that, to just sit there while Draco's wet and sandy limbs slid across his body. He grabbed Draco's elbow and pulled him down so he was orbiting Harry's groin, occasionally brushing him and stepping all over his pleasure sensors. Harry let out a little moan and Draco pulled back and began to trail his mouth down Harry's neck, biting occasionally as Harry's hands worked, pressed between their two bodies, to unbutton Draco's pants.

"Potter," Draco said quickly.

But night was dropping onto the horizon, and the long shadows that had been cast against the beach by the wizards milling around the fireworks were fading into the darkness themselves. The original shrieks of laughter and loud, monotone conversations had faded into a comfortably quiet hubbub that persisted down the length of the beach and toward Draco and Harry.

"Let's at least move down some," Draco said, with no room in his tone for disagreement, and Harry hardly wanted to argue -- he was hardly an exhibitionist.

Crouched over, they hurried about ten more feet away, so that they were completely hidden from the other party by trees and tall grasses, and Harry dragged Draco into the surf like a playful dog, the moonlight bouncing off his glasses and lighting up his green eyes. The stars glittered in the sky like tiny pinpricks, much clearer than they were in the city, and the soft crash of the waves against rocks seemed faraway and muted in his ears.

Draco laughed, and it did Harry good to hear it, to hear Draco be completely uninhibited for once and just exist, along with Harry and the night sky and the waves lapping at their thighs.

"Fuck me," Draco drawled quietly, his grey eyes searching Harry's earnestly, illuminated silver by the moon. "Fuck me so hard I can't sit down for a week."

And Harry was only too happy to oblige. He pulled Draco out of the water and threw him to the ground, right where the tide hit the sand, and their lips crashed together desperately, like if they went another minute without kissing they would both explode.

"God," Draco grunted as Harry's hands slid under his boxers and crept toward his ass. Harry waited a moment, then crooked one finger inside Draco, and then another.

Draco, normally vocal, was completely silent save for a few noises of pleasure as Harry arched his fingers higher and farther inside him.

Harry slid out and knelt across Draco, one knee in the surf, one knee on the beach, and Draco rolled onto his stomach. His fingers dug into the wet sand as Harry pulled down the denim, wet and soft from the salt spray, pressing himself fully erect against Draco. Harry slid his own pants down, and with one last nervous glance at the beach and the various rooms in the hotels casting square blocks of light onto the ground outside, he began to slide into Draco.

He took it slowly, one glorious inch at a time, and Draco hissed and arched his back. Harry rocked forward unsteadily, entering faster than he had meant, his chest pounding and tightening with ecstasy as he went that final inch into Draco. He released with a moan and a salty-aired, desperate pant, sliding himself up and out of Draco and rolling over to him in the surf. Draco moaned back and they kissed, him rolling onto his back and entwining his fingers with Harry's, so he was holding both of his hands at once.

Pulling each other up, they darted off the beach and through the now-darkened lobby, snickering as they Apparated into their room upstairs.

"I'm taking a shower," Draco whispered.

"Okay," Harry replied.

"That means come in with me, git," Draco said, pulling Harry into the bathroom with him. The complimentary rubber ducky stared up at them contemptuously in the way only a French rubber ducky can.

"Oh," Harry said, chuckling and removing his glasses. "If you insist, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco was already undressed and running the water under his fingers to see if it was hot while Harry was sliding his pants off.

The boxers followed shortly after and Harry stepped gingerly into the tub, sliding his arms around Draco's waist. The metal band of his watch caught on Draco's flat stomach and Harry was only just able to jerk his arms away before Draco turned the water on.

"That'd be the second time I ruined a watch like that," Harry muttered, sliding it off his wrist and tossing it to the side. It landed on the tiles of the bathroom with a pleasant click.

Draco turned and gently pressed his lips against Harry's, then took the devilishly soft washcloth off the little porcelain bar and began to soap it up.

He began to slide it across the very lower part of Harry's stomach, and then lower. Harry gritted his teeth and looked up at the ceiling as warm water forced his messy black hair into submission.

Draco pushed his pale blonde hair off of his forehead. "Christ, just how short is your refractory period, Potter?" he said, snickering.

"No one told you to wash my manly bits," Harry said, but he laughed too. He took the washcloth from Draco and began to slide it over his pale body, paying special attention to his favorite parts, like Draco's gorgeously refined collarbone and his slim but capable forearms.

Harry slid his fingers around Draco's left forearm, but before the plush white cloth could touch the absurdly grinning Dark Mark, Draco grabbed his hand so hard Harry heard his own knuckles crack.

"What?" Harry said.

"Don't," Draco told him.

"You're the one who said you wear it like a badge of honor," Harry said, "proof that you went up against the dragon and survived."

"So what if I do? I don't want -- stop it, Potter."

Harry grazed his lips against the Dark Mark.

Draco broke away like a shy horse. "Why would you, of all people--"

"Because you said it yourself, you did it for me, and I like that," Harry said, dropping Draco's arm.

"I did it for myself," Draco said, but he didn't look Harry in the eye when he said it.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," Harry said, grinning.

Draco smirked at him and slid his arms over Harry's shoulders, meeting his lips, and they stood and kissed as the warm water poured over them, the dragon and the lion.


	16. Say Tomorrow

Harry woke up before Draco.

He quietly disentangled himself from the bedsheets and went to the window, where a small owl was waiting.

It hooted impatiently at him and Harry took the _Daily Prophet_ from him gingerly, depositing two Knuts from his bag into the ankle pouch.

The owl hooted and flapped off.

Harry turned and saw that Draco was awake, propped up on his arm and looking at Harry curiously.

"I didn't know you could get the _Prophet_ here," he said as Harry sat next to him on the bed.

"I don't want to read it," Harry said, gritting his teeth. "Here."

He tossed the paper to Draco and watched as Draco picked it up and scanned it quickly.

"You didn't make the front page," Draco said. "Nor did I."

"Well, if I didn't, you wouldn't," Harry said without thinking, and then winced as Draco smacked him upside the head.

"Fuck you," Draco said. "Maybe I'm not in the public eye as much, Potter, but you're a cheap celebrity. At least I have my dignity."

Harry chose to ignore that.

"Oh, here's something... Harry Potter has currently not made an official comment to the press about his alleged homosexual relationship with Death Eater Draco Malfoy, who has been cleared of all charges after it came into public knowledge that he had worked as a spy during the war." Draco folded the paper and handed it back to Harry. "That's a lot of information for one sentence."

"Shit," Harry said, picking up the paper and tossing it in the general direction of the rubbish bin. "Shit, shit, shit. Well, at least they didn't have a go at me... That wasn't page two, was it?"

"Page two, first column," Draco said. "Potter, it was bound to happen eventually. Someone was going to leak it -- for instance, Weasley's not exactly known for his taciturnity."

"That's the point," Harry said, falling back against the bed so his inky hair mingled with Draco's blonde. "It _wasn't_ a slip of the tongue. I can't blame anyone but myself. I shouldn't have been snogging you in public."

"Excuse me," Draco snapped, "I was snogging you."

He rolled off the bed and over to the trash bin, pulling the_ Prophet _out.

"What are you doing?" Harry said lazily as Draco knelt onto the bed, studying the paper with great care. He pawed at Draco's crotch a little, and Draco slapped his hand.

"Something about Aries men on page sixteen," Draco drawled.

"Amazing how much your attention span lengthens when it's about _you_," Harry said. "What does it say?"

"That's true," Draco muttered as he read. "That's not. I'm not insensitive to other people's feelings."

Harry began to laugh so hard he almost choked on his own breath. Draco glared at him.

"Aries with Leos," Draco said. "Dynamic and passionate relationship... often butt heads... disagree on uses of magic... Aries leads in the bedroom..." he smirked at Harry.

"It does _not_ say that," Harry said, pulling the paper out of Draco's hands, grabbing Draco's wrist and pulling him down on top of himself.

Draco ran his tongue along the curve of Harry's jaw, and Harry reached down and pulled Draco's shirt up, sliding his hands down his back, feeling the muscles stretched taut under skin.

"You know what I want to do?" Harry murmured in Draco's ear as Draco slid his hands into Harry's hair, staring intensely into his eyes. "Put on my old Quidditch robes..."

Draco snickered quietly. "Kinky," he said through his teeth, so the _n_ slid through intoxicatingly, sending deep tingles of pleasure from Harry's spine to his rapidly hardening cock. "Going to beat me with your broom, Potter?"

Harry met Draco's lips and Draco slid his hands down so they were resting on either side of Harry's ribcage, grinding his crotch gently against Harry's. Harry's hand made its way into Draco's boxers and began to gently rub where his thigh met his pelvis. Draco gave him a long, luxurious moan, and Harry savored it for a moment.

Draco's left hand reached for Harry's underwear, pulling them down and releasing his fully realized erection. Harry panted once, doglike; Draco's tongue slid casually and teasingly down Harry's stomach, which fluttered with impatience and primal desire.

The tongue continued, and Harry, craning his neck forward, saw Draco's pupils expand as his tongue wrapped around Harry.

Harry's hands clenched down on the bedsheets as he came, not even bothering to prolong it. He sighed, Draco's name on his lips, and Draco flicked his wand effortlessly with a quiet "_Scourgify_."

"Do you want me, to, ah," Harry said when he felt Draco's erection pressing against his thigh, wiping the sweat off of his brow.

"Don't bother," Draco whispered, curling up next to Harry, his pale hand on Harry's bicep muscle, the one with the tiny constellation of freckles on it.

"I want you," Harry said, "forever. Could we do that?"

Draco cleared his throat. "I don't know," he said.

"It's just every time I picture myself with someone else," Harry said, "anyone else -- I can't."

"You don't have fantasies?" Draco said, sounding simultaneously surprised and amused.

"No, I mean picturing being old and dottery with someone," Harry said.

Draco sighed a long, troubled sigh. "You don't want children?"

"I thought I did," Harry said. "But I don't know... we're young. There's plenty of time to figure that out."

Draco was silent and Harry nudged him gently.

"I don't know what I want except you," Draco said. "I don't like that. I'm usually able to separate all of that out, separate people from what I want. But you're inside my life, Potter, you _are_ my life. You've always been."

"Well," Harry said, taking a deep breath, "today is the beginning of the rest of our lives. There is no tomorrow. If you want something, get it and enjoy it now, because you might get trampled by a hippogriff."

"You should stick to DADA, Potter," Draco said. "Philosophy is not exactly your strong suit."

Harry grinned and rubbed Draco's arm.


	17. Bloody Hell

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said quietly, motioning for him to sit across from her.

Harry and Draco had returned to London to find about fourteen letters outside their hotel room door. The owls had evidently gotten tired of waiting and flown off. The letters themselves contained messages of increasing alarm as to where Harry had run off to, from Hermione, Ron, Tonks and even a few from Mrs. Weasley and, oddly enough, Hagrid. They had entered the hotel room to find Cat sitting next to the bowl Draco had charmed to refill itself with cat food every ten hours, looking at them reproachfully.

Harry had sat down and replied to every letter with apologies and assurances that he was all right while Draco strolled off to take a nap. He had then gone into Diagon Alley, into the post office, and sent them all off with several tawny owls.

He had quickly gotten a response from Hermione, asking that he meet her at a coffee shop near the Ministry as soon as he could.

It began to rain right around then.

Harry ran a hand through his wet hair as he sat. "Hey," he replied.

"I'm going to be as concise as I can," Hermione said, looking at her watch, "because Ron doesn't know I'm meeting you. I told him you were back, and he went ballistic. He's very angry at you, Harry."

"Again," Harry said with a sigh, "I'm sorry, that was stupid, I shouldn't have run off without telling anyone... I was an ass."

Hermione was quiet as she stirred her coffee. "Harry, I'm not angry with you," she said slowly. "I'm worried about you. Running off without telling anyone isn't like you."

She paused and looked at him intensely. "When Ron and I found out about, well, you know, I told him not to get angry with you because I was worried you were a little unstable after the war and wouldn't take well to being attacked, or what you might perceive as an attack, anyway..."

"I thought you were going to be concise," Harry snapped, and then grimaced apologetically at Hermione. "Sorry. Continue."

"But now I think you're just using Malfoy as an escape mechanism," she said, searing him with her shrewd eyes.

A few witches glanced over at them and began to whisper. Harry gave them a sufficiently nasty look that he had picked up from Draco and they looked away.

"Wouldn't you want a means of escape?" Harry said. "I mean, Christ, Hermione, how are you handling all of this so well?"

"I _use_ my support system," she replied icily.

"So do I!"

"Harry, you honestly expect me to believe that being in a relationship with _Malfoy_ is helping you get past any of your war issues? What do you talk about, really? Quidditch? Bigotry?"

"Hermione," Harry said. "I thought you of all people would understand."

"No, Harry, I understand," Hermione said, putting her hand on top of his. "I'm perfectly okay with it, I didn't mean to appear otherwise. I just don't think you're getting the emotional catharsis you need from that particular relationship. And Malfoy probably isn't either... not that I particularly care, but there it is."

"I don't expect you to like Malfoy," Harry said, "I just didn't expect you to believe so strongly that he's have a negative effect on my life."

"I don't, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "I just think you need someone to talk to about the things you're holding inside. Have you been having nightmares?"

"I already told Ron, no," Harry lied.

Hermione sighed through her nose and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, yes," Harry said. "What do you want me to do? Go see a head-shrinker because you think I have post.. war something order?"

"Well, maybe you should!" Hermione said. "Harry, we're worried about you!"

"Fine!" Harry growled, standing up. "Whatever you say, _Mother_!"

He was about to leave when he realized his right hand was shaking uncontrollably. Harry collapsed back into his chair.

"All right," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm a bit more troubled than I'd like to admit. I just want to move past it, Hermione."

Hermione grabbed his hand again and gripped it tightly. "So do I."

* * *

"Malfoy," Blaise greeted Draco as he stepped into what he now thought of as 'the other Slytherins' apartment', even though only three Slytherins lived there. "Where've you been?"

"South of France," Draco replied off-handedly, summoning a cup and pouring himself a glass of water.

"Lucky bastard," Blaise said cheerfully, steering Draco toward the couch. "Pansy refuses to go anywhere."

Pansy entered the room, towel-drying her hair, and shrieked, "That's not true! I'd love to go to France!"

"Did you have a lot of sex?" Blaise asked Draco, ignoring Pansy. "You look all flushed and pink."

"I'm slightly sunburned," Draco snapped. "I hate the beach."

"Ah," Blaise said. "How goes it with the Boy Who Lived? Is that lunacy over yet?"

"No," Draco said, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes.

Blaise peered into Draco's cup. "_Water_? You're losing your touch, Malfoy."

"Who gives a damn anymore," Draco said.

"Speaking of which," Blaise said, "I heard you two were in the paper. That's got to be uncomfortable for Potter, Mr. Can't-find-the-doorknob-to-the-closet," he said with a touch of sadistic glee in his voice.

Draco sighed through his nose. "I'm screwed. I'm probably going to be disowned."

"Malfoy," Blaise said, patting him on the shoulder, "you're welcome to my liquor cabinet when and if you need it. In other news, I need to be off. I'm meeting an, ah, 'business associate'."

Draco nodded, his eyes still closed. He felt Pansy sit down next to him.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she cooed in her baby voice, petting his blonde hair. Draco opened his eyes and gave her an appraising look.

She pouted at him and moved down the couch slightly.

* * *

_A/N: This is a lazy-ass chapter and I am sorry.  
_


	18. Gunning Engines

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat he was perched in. Across from him, the prim and bony Healer, her mousy hair tied back into a stiff bun, surveyed him over her tortoise-shell glasses.

"Er," Harry said slowly, trying to fill the silence. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Well, seeing as this is our first meeting, you could just tell me why you're here in the first place," she said with an ingratiating little smile.

"All right," Harry said, but it was easier said than done. He felt wildly uneasy sitting there, about to spill his guts to the wizarding equivalent of a head-shrinker. So he said the first thing that came into his head. "You're not a Legillimens, are you?"

"Those who are trained in the branch of Healing that delves into the mind are trained in Occlumency and Legillimency, yes, but don't let that give you pause, Mr. Potter," she said, adjusting her glasses and smiling blandly. "Be as open with me as you feel comfortable, our meeting today is simply going to help me understand the problems you're trying to overcome."

"Okay," Harry said, clutching the arm of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. "I guess lately I've been feeling a bit..."

The Healer blinked at him and inclined her head slightly, encouraging him to continue.

"... unnecessary?"

"Why have you been feeling that way?" she said, making a small note on her pad.

"I feel like I've exhausted my purpose," Harry said. "I feel... I dunno, I feel restless. I was the Chosen One, but now that's all over... and I want to be an Auror, and I love it, and it's the perfect job. I guess I just feel like I've done what I was supposed to. I don't know how to move on."

"Well, Mr. Potter," she said, her eyes on her notepad, "you're only eighteen. Continue, I'm sorry."

"I don't know what else to say about that," Harry finished awkwardly. His eyes fixed on her bookshelf, skimming the spines. There were all sorts of gruesome titles such as 'Ransacking the Mind', and 'Chosen Memory Removal: The Various Moral Ramifications.'

"Tell me about who you mentioned earlier," she said, flipping backward. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry laughed despite himself. "If you had me in here fourteen weeks in a row, you'd barely skim the surface on Malfoy," he told her.

"Well, that's what we're doing today," she said, folding her arms on one bony knee and raising immaculately plucked eyebrows at him. "Skimming the surface. If you feel comfortable talking about him, of course."

"Where should I start?"

"Wherever you feel is the beginning of the relationship's negative or positive affect on your life."

"When we met, then. All right..." Harry sat back in the chair. "Are you sure you don't want me to start at the beginning of the war? If I start when I was eleven, we're going to be here a long time."

"I have all the time in the world, Mr. Potter," she said, smiling at him. "Provided your Gringotts account number is still valid, that is."

"It was Madame Malkin's," Harry said. "I was eleven... I had just found out I was a wizard -- do you want me to touch on that?"

"Just Draco Malfoy for now."

"I was buying my school supplies. I thought he was a smarmy git."

"I see," she said, making another notation."

"I continued to think he was a smarmy git for the next four years or so -- we went to Hogwarts together, of course. And then, ah," Harry said. His left index finger twitched.

"Everything you say to me is in complete confidence, Mr. Potter," she said. "And I promise you I merely skim the_ Prophet."_

"Well, then, you know," Harry said, rubbing his scar reflexively. "I, er, we... should I tell you the entire story?"

"If you feel it would benefit my understanding of this relationship," she said, and the corners of her lips twitched up again briefly as she laid quill to paper.

* * *

"Hey," Harry said as he closed the door behind him with a click.

Draco didn't respond. He was standing over the sink, holding a blood-stained white cloth to his hand.

"What happened?"

Draco turned and looked Harry up and down, then sneered. "I grabbed the wrong end of a knife. You're oddly well-dressed."

"You... how does one do that?"

"I wasn't paying attention," Draco said dismissively.

Harry felt a little tug of worry. Draco was bleeding like a lamb mid-slaughter and looked paler and more tired than usual.

"I went to go see... a Healer," Harry said, changing paths at the last second.

"Oh?" Draco said. "Because you have this airy, self-important tone in your voice that makes me think you went and spilled your guts to some over-paid brain analyst just to be reassured that you are, in fact, the most important person on the planet. Or it could be that I found your Gringotts expense list, so there's no need to cover."

"Whoa," Harry said, holding up a hand. "Is it that time of the month or something, Malfoy?"

"I fucked up," Draco spat, tapping the fingers of his good hand on the counter.

Harry paused and waited for him to elaborate.

"I've been helping my father sell some of his Dark things, because, you know, after he only barely escaped being pressed with charges, he wants to have a lower profile. So I've been going through Zabini --"

"I knew he was shifty," Harry said with a grin.

"-- and Zabini's been selling it to Borgin," Draco continued, "but Zabini decided to run off without telling me, so I had to bring something to him myself, and it backfired on me."

"The Dark... whatever it was?"

"Yes," Draco said icily.

"Well, I'm not going to feign sympathy -- Jesus fucking Christ!"

Draco had pulled cloth away from his hand and revealed a large, bleeding laceration that looked like a cross between a burn and a gash.

Harry looked at him in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"No," Draco sniffed. "I _might_ live, though..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Serves you right for smuggling illegal objects."

"I thought he had gotten rid of them all," Draco snarled. "But now he's got a way to guilt me into it... and it all comes back to you. Why is everything your fault? If you hadn't sucked at Potions..."

Harry sighed. "If you hadn't sucked at Potions" was one of Draco's favored refrains, along with "If you hadn't been born".

"Is your hand all right?" Harry said, touching it gingerly. Draco winced and shied away. "You should probably get that looked at..."

"I'm fine," Draco snapped. "What am I going to tell them? I was handling a cursed object and I hurt myself? It already looks better. It wasn't anything lethal, anyway, just a bit of... 'discouragement'."

Harry kissed Draco lightly on the forehead. "Whatever."

"It _does_ hurt, though," Draco whimpered, grabbing Harry by the tie as he made to walk away and pulling him back.

"Want me to make it better?" Harry murmured, resting his hands on Draco's waist and grinning at him wolfishly.

Draco let his lips do the talking for him, and soon Harry had forgotten about what the Healer said about Draco being a negative influence on his life. What the hell did she know?


	19. Triologilous

Harry crept into the bedroom.

Draco was unclothed on the bed, his chest rising steadily as he slept, a sheet pulled over his pelvis and his head tilted to the side.

Harry sat on the other bed and just watched him for a moment. Draco looked strangely angelic when he slept, with no scowl to mar his pretty features. The sharp curve of his jaw was softened by the soft light of the lamp beside the bed.

"Hey, ferret," Harry said softly.

Draco jerked into a sitting position so fast it was as if he'd been stabbed with a hot poker. "What?" he demanded, looking around wildly.

"Good afternoon," Harry said, getting up and moving to the edge of Draco's bed. "Have you been asleep all day? You need a job."

"What?" Draco repeated, pulling the sheet over himself and rolling onto his side. "You woke me up last night, screaming in your sleep," he muttered.

"I did?" Harry said, lying down and loosening his tie. "Did you wake me up?"

"I kicked you in the ribs."

"_That's_ where I got that bruise!" Harry exclaimed. "I thought someone attacked me when I wasn't looking, blimey..."

"Yeah, and you didn't shut up," Draco said, sitting up and pulling a pair of boxers on. "So I went to sleep on the couch."

Harry's eyebrows lifted. "You weren't, er, worried about me? At all?"

Draco muttered something unintelligible and went into the bathroom. Harry followed him.

Draco perched on the counter as Harry washed his face, his chest unclenching slow from the constant vigil it was on during Auror training.

"Stressful day?" Draco said shrewdly, sliding on a watch he had left on the counter.

"Every day," Harry said, running his hand through his messy hair, "is a stressful day... this one was just shitty." He looked around at the complimentary rubber duck, the tiny shampoos and wrapped up soaps, and sighed. "I should move into Grimmauld Place, shouldn't I?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise.

"What's-her-name," Harry said, gesturing while looking in the mirror. "She said I should come to terms with everything and move on with my life and, you know... but I don't want to live where the Order was."

"I don't see why not," Draco said.

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I don't much want to talk about it."

He studied himself in the mirror for the first time in a while. His green eyes looked back at him steadily, shrewdly, as if they knew every thought process in his head, every decision he would ever make.

The eyes that Snape had wanted to see when he died.

Maybe it would mean more than that, to live in Grimmauld Place, Harry thought. It wasn't just about him and Sirius in the first place, anyway.

Maybe he should stop running away from his life.

Harry jerked out of his reverie to see Draco looking at him.

"What?"

"I _said_," Draco said, rolling his eyes, "does that mean you want me..."

"Of course," Harry said. "I mean, wasn't that implied?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he shut off the sink. The last few drops of water fell in an absolute, final sort of way.

"I always thought I'd move out after the summer, anyway. And it's the middle of August."

He laughed and grinned at Draco. "Should probably blast your face off the tapestry, while we're at it."

"Hey," Draco protested. Harry ruffled his blonde hair and ducked out of the bathroom before Draco could retaliate.

* * *

"Lucius," Narcissa said sharply.

She watched as he slowly and passive-aggressively lowered the_ Prophet_.

"Yes?" he replied through gritted teeth.

"Lucius, you know I love you dearly," she said, softening her voice and sitting gently on the plush footrest Lucius had his feet on. He moved them.

"Go on."

"However," she said, "I have to inform you that I _do_ put our child first. And shutting me out is just childish."

"Well," Lucius snapped, "maybe you shouldn't have let him out of the house right under my nose when I implicitly said I had things to discuss with him."

"Lucius, the harder you push Draco, the less he is going to bend to your will," Narcissa said, standing up and pulling the newspaper out of her husband's hands. She folded it crisply. "Don't be an idiot."

"What do you expect me to do?" Lucius demanded, looking up at her with a mixture of anger and confusion splayed across his features.

"I almost lost him," Narcissa hissed. "I almost lost you as well. Do you know what I went through to keep him safe? And now you're pushing him away! Your own child!"

"I'm not pushing anyone away," Lucius said slowly. "I'm trying to knock some sense into his skull. You may be content to --"

"Stop," Narcissa said. "I don't want to fight with you, Lucius. I just wanted to let you know _you_ are fighting a losing battle, and you may lose the respect of your son in the process."

As she made to leave, he grabbed her by the wrist.

"I don't know what you want me to do," he said hoarsely. "I want to do the right thing for our family. But what is it?"

"If you want to do the right thing for your family," Narcissa said, "you will accept your family _members_ for who they are."

"Please, Narcissa," Lucius said, turning in his seat and looking at her. "Do you really want our family line to die out, because Draco decided on a whim..."

"I've come to understand over the last year that there are more important things than blood," Narcissa replied, and exited the room, leaving her husband alone with the newspaper.

* * *

_A/N: I hate to say this, but I'm going on vacation with my family for two weeks and we're leaving on Saturday, so this will be the last update for a while. Also, Justice is winding to a close as Harry and Draco move on with their lives together (I only ever planned it to follow them to the end of the summer.) However! I do like the whole storyline, and I'm definitely going to add to it with various oneshots and maybe even a triologilous (that's not a word, right?) sequel? Thirduel? tl;dr: The ending may be near, but never fear, for it's a comma and not a period. :)_


	20. Rhythm and Blues

"Er," said Harry.

"I don't see it," said Draco, raising an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't, would you? It's got a Fidelus Charm," Harry said as Draco stared up at 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place, his eyes sweeping cleanly over the house in between.

"Yeah, well," Draco said, a muscle in his cheek twitching, "go on."

"Oh," Harry said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Draco. It read the same as the one Mad-Eye Moody had given him three years ago.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

Draco looked up and made a small surprised noise. Harry brushed past him and pushed the battered old door open with his shoulder.

"Come on," he hissed to Draco, keeping his foot against the door and motioning for Draco to follow him. The dark night sky twinkled behind Draco, illuminating his pale coloring, as he swept into the foyer.

"_Lumos_," Harry whispered. His wand lit up. "Good God," he said, looking around.

The house was in a general state of decay, though it retained the classic elegance of its age. Wood looked as if it was being eaten away before their eyes. The carpet was threadbare and the entire place reeked of death.

He glanced over at Draco, who was trying valiantly to keep a disdainful sneer off his lips.

"Well, it could be worse," Harry muttered, stepping forward.

The instant his foot his the carpet, a shriek rang out.

"FILTHY HALF-BLOOD, DESECRATING THE BLOOD FAMILY NAME, DESTROYING EVERY LAST SHRED OF DIGNITY --"

Draco leapt back in alarm. Harry threw his wand to the carpet and began to tug the velvet curtains on either side of Sirius's mother's portrait toward each other, but they flew back apart the instant he let go and she continued to howl and shriek insanely.

"Help me!" he snapped at Draco, who took the other curtain and wrenched it toward Harry's; they pulled them together and stumbled backwards.

"Bloody hell," Harry said, casting out a spell. The gas lamps in front of him lit up, along with the chandelier.

They crept along the gloomy, decayed hallway together, passing the dining room. Harry's chest tightened slightly as a scent drifted by him that reminded him vaguely of Sirius. His head spun.

"Draco," Harry said, putting his arm out and stopping him in his tracks.

"What?" Draco said impatiently.

"I need a second," Harry said. "Can you, uh... get the..."

He motioned toward the foyer where they had left their trunks and luggage.

"_Accio_ luggage," Draco said, his wand moving languidly through the air. "Hurry up," he said, heading upstairs, his long black robes skimming the floor and the luggage bumping along the floor behind him.

Harry leaned against the wall, closing his eyes to avoid the gaze of the dead house elves.

He waited until his breathing had slowed and the heat behind his eyes had gone. All of the people that had walked this entryway before; Dumbledore, Lupin, Sirius, Snape... his parents.

Harry took a deep breath and started up the large, grand staircase.

He didn't stop until he had reached the second floor, and stepped into the bedroom that he had stayed in with Ron when he was fifteen. Glancing around, he found it hadn't changed much.

"Good evening, Potter."

Harry jumped slightly and turned to see the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black looking at him curiously.

"Er," Harry said. "I thought you were, ah... Did... Hermione bring you back?"

"Yes, some time ago," Phineas replied evenly.

"I see," Harry replied, beginning to back out of the room.

"You haven't been here since the war ended," Phineas noted.

"Well," Harry said, "I didn't really..."

"Do you feel guilty, Potter?"

"And just what do you mean by that?" Harry said, closing the door and stepping back across the threshold.

Phineas surveyed him. "Loquacious as ever, eh Potter? I was of course referring to my great-great-grandson..."

"Why would I..."

"I suppose you're right," Phineas said slowly. "It was far more his fault than yours. You know what they say... the grander they are, the harder they fall?"

Harry drew in a breath. "I'm moving in," he said.

"Wonderful," Phineas said drily.

"Oh, screw you," Harry muttered, making to leave the room and running into Draco, who was entering it.

Draco steered him back into the room. "Hearing voices again, Potter?"

"Oh, look who it is," Phineas said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Draco turned and smirked at the portrait. "Phineas Nigellus Black."

"Hello, Mud," Phineas said.

"Is that what passes for humor in the afterlife?" Draco replied.

"Oh, you should _hear_ what the other Black portraits are saying about you," Phineas said, a note of glee in his voice.

"Listen," Harry said, making another break for the door, "I'm going to go, er, see where we're going to sleep... or which room is least infested with nargles..."

"I'm not a Black, I'm a Malfoy," Draco drawled, ignoring Harry and folding his arms.

Harry stepped out into the hallway, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. So this was what he'd have to put up with for the foreseeable future.

Draco followed him out shortly after and Harry laid an impromptu kiss on his collarbone. "Come on," he said with a grin, "let's check out the bedrooms."

* * *

_A/N: Mike, who reviewed my last chapter saying: _I really liked your previous story, but I was just wondering why you chose to jump forward two years? I would appreciate if maybe you wrote something about the intervening time between these two stories, as the war would have been very exciting, and I have seen so many wonderful portrayals of it in other fics.

_I wanted to respond to this personally because I was actually tossing around an idea in my head of doing a series of ficlets entailing some of what happened during Harry and Draco's sixth year. I rarely even think about that, because of course /I/ know what happened, and it was an idea that only just occured to me, to go back and flesh out the story a little. So I think that in addition to a follow-up to JoM, I'll be doing that, if anyone would be interested in reading it.  
_


	21. Palmed Lines

_A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. First I was away for the weekend and then FFnet was having all sorts of problems. _

* * *

"Hey, Harry, come on in."

Harry made his way uneasily into Tonks' office, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork.

"What's on your mind?" she said tiredly, pushing her hair back. It was the same mouse-brown it had been since Lupin died, but lately there had been occasional splashes of color; violet, bubble-gum pink, subdued navy blue.

Harry's eyes lingered on the picture of Teddy on her desk. "How old is he?" he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and met Tonks' dark, twinkling eyes.

"Five months in September," Tonks said quietly. "Wotcher, Harry?"

"Er, well, I was wondering if there are any positions for... a friend of mine."

"In the Auror office?" Tonks said, swiveling around in her chair and flicking her wand. A stack of forms landed on her lap. "Are they qualified?"

"No, not here," Harry said quickly. "Listen, uh, it's your cousin."

Tonks paused, mouthing _cousin_ to herself, then burst out laughing. "Draco _Malfoy_?"

"Shh," Harry said uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"So it's _that_ kind of 'friend'," she said, grinning at him and reaching out for a piece of paper that had gotten lodged in a shelf and in the process knocking a stack of folders over. "Whoops," Tonks said sheepishly, waving her wand again. "Okay, Harry, I'll do my best, but Malfoys don't really... work. I don't think there's a job where you get to stare at yourself in a mirror half the day and order people around the rest of it -- not here at the Ministry, anyway."

Harry smiled at her. "I really appreciate it, Tonks."

"You moved into Grimmauld Place, right?" Tonks said. "Need any help with the cleanup?"

"I probably will eventually," Harry said. "Right now I'm just trying to get the house elf heads off the walls and stop Sirius's mum screaming at me every time I walk in the door. See you tomorrow, Tonks."

Tonks nodded at him and he left.

* * *

"Oi, Malfoy," Harry called out from the Cinderella-drops-her-shoe-at-midnight-esque staircase of Grimmuald Place.

Draco appeared in the shadows of one of the doorways. "Yes?"

"I'm home."

"Really, Potter? I hadn't noticed."

"Good afternoon to you too," Harry said, grinning at Draco and grabbing him around the waist. "Get anything done today?"

"What would you have me do?" Draco said, raising his eyebrows as Harry pulled him into the nearest bedroom and onto the bed.

"Clean?" Harry suggested as Draco stroked the fine black hair on his arm idly.

Draco snorted dismissively. "What did you do today?" he murmured. "Disarm some people to death?"

"That's not funny," Harry said, even though he was laughing. "No, I studied for my next practical exam... disarmed Ron to death a little bit..." He pulled Draco a bit closer and pressed his lips against his cornsilk-colored hair.

"And?" Draco said, kissing Harry forcefully, rolling him over on the bed and straddling him.

"And," Harry said, grinning broadly as Draco slid his hands into Harry's pants, pulling his shirt out and unbuttoning it from the bottom. "I think you need something to do."

"Other than this?" Draco purred, his tongue gently probing Harry's collarbone.

"Yeah," Harry said, shifting around on the bed and sitting up. "Well, no, you can keep doing that, but I think you need a job."

Draco sat up as well, looking at Harry with mild interest.

"It's not healthy to hang around here all day, is all."

"I don't _hang around here all day_, Potter."

"Well, whatever you do," Harry said. "And I need to go to Gringotts. I'm running low on Knuts. You want to come with me?"

"If you insist," Draco huffed. He waited a moment and then said, "I'm nearly broke after paying off Borgin to keep his mouth shut."

"If anyone looks at us sideways, tell me," Harry said. "I need to practice my hexes."

* * *

"What was that again? Ah yes," the wizened goblin named Clawhorn said. "The Malfoy vault."

He paused for a moment and adjusted his glasses. Harry drummed his fingers against the underside of the marble counter. Draco tilted his head at the goblin with that haughty, brooding look Harry suspected he practiced in the mirror.

"Are you Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You're denied access to this vault," Clawhorn said shortly. "Your key?"

"Excuse me?" Draco demanded.

"Your key, sir," Clawhorn repeated dourly, still holding his hand out.

"Malfoy, give him the key," Harry said, turning to face the rest of Gringotts.

Draco seemed hovering at the surface of discomposure, but he handed the key to Clawhorn.

"And you, sir?"

"Vault six-eighty-seven," Harry said, slapping his key down on the counter. As Clawhorn was taking it to the magnifying glass for inspection, Draco slipped over to Harry.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Malfoy, use your head for something other than a hatrack," Harry said tiredly, rubbing his temples. "Mummy and Daddy cut you off."

"This is --"

"Bollocks? Yeah, take it up with them," Harry said, as Clawhorn motioned for them to follow. "Come on." He ducked down and whispered in Draco's ear, "If that doesn't work out... don't worry."

He dropped a quick kiss on the side of Draco's head and grinned when Draco only batted him away half-heartedly.


	22. Redemption

"You've got a letter," Blaise said as an immaculately groomed owl swooped into his apartment and landed next to Draco on the couch.

"And you know how much I appreciate your redundancy, Zabini," Draco snarled, grabbing the letter from the owl, who hooted at him haughtily and fluttered back out of the window where he had come.

Draco was sleeping on Blaise's couch at the moment, the indignity of which he could barely withstand, while highly trained wizarding professionals cleaned a toxic amount of doxies out of the drawing room. Harry was staying with the insufferable Weasley, or "kipping with Ron" as he had called it.

"It's from my father," Draco said.

"Well, isn't _this_ shaping up nicely," Blaise replied dourly. "Need liquor?"

"No," Draco said. He didn't add, _I told Potter I'd stop_, because he knew what the response would be and he didn't need it at the moment.

He flicked his wand. The letter ripped itself open and out slid a letter.

In pretentiously large handwriting, his father had written:

_If you'd like to discuss it, meet me tonight at eight o' clock sharp in the parlor. _

_-- Lucius_

"It?" Draco demanded. "What the hell is _it_? What the hell does that _mean_?"

Blaise looked at Draco in alarm. "Pansy, I think he's gone funny in the head," he called out warily. "When you take him to St. Mungo's, pick me up some pickled eel on your way back."

Draco threw a glass of water at his head. Blaise transfigured it into a pillow and it bounced off the wall behind him.

"Lovely aim," Blaise snorted, "no wonder Potter beat you in every single Quidditch match we ever played."

-

Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor at seven fifty-seven.

He entered the parlor as promised to find a willowy, deathly pale blonde girl with a sharp and slightly crooked nose and Lucius sitting around the coffee table expectantly.

Draco said nothing, he just turned to his father and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Draco, this is Astoria," Lucius said smoothly. "She's Daphne Greengrass' sister." He jerked his head to the side, which Draco took to mean "sit down", and so he did.

"She's starting her seventh year at Hogwarts this year," Lucius said. "I was just speaking with her uncle, very old money, you know..."

Draco thought his father had never looked smarmier than at that moment. "Excuse me, you're seventeen?" he said to Astoria.

"Sixteen, actually," she said. "Late birthday. Listen..." Astoria leaned in. "I'm terribly sorry for asking," she said, sounding as though she wasn't at all, "but is it true you're shagging --"

"KREACHER!" Lucius bellowed, slamming his empty shot glass to the table and glaring at Draco, wild-eyed.

Kreacher slunk into the room balefully, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and re-filled Lucius's glass.

"Yes, I'm shagging Kreacher," Draco said drily. "In the drawing room, every night, it's bloody fantastic. Listen, Astoria, will you excuse my father and I for a moment?"

"Oh, of course," she burbled, sweeping out of the room.

Draco waited until the door had swung shut to say quietly, "Sixteen, Father? Is that even legal?"

"She'll be seventeen in a week," Lucius snapped.

Draco stood up. "I think I have to leave," he hissed.

"You're not going anywhere," Lucius said. "Do you want to be cut off for the rest of your life? If you sit through this, I'll let you back into the vault."

Draco paused.

"Draco," Lucius said softly.

He sat back down.

-

_A/N: Holy shit, sorry this took so long. I've been insanely busy lately. And sorry this is so short! I wanted to add some Harry POV, but it just didn't seem to fit._

_In other, less interesting news, I have a fictionpress account (anElegantUniverse), so on the off-chance you happen to like my writing and want to read original fiction by me, that's where to find it. Haven't uploaded anything yet, though. _


	23. Fin

"Potter, Granger works in the Law Enforcement Department, yes?"

Harry looked up from what he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose.

They were both sitting in the parlor of Grimmauld Place, which for its part was looking a bit less shabby.

"Yes," Harry said. "Technically, so do I. Why?"

"Does she know anyone involved with..." Draco paused. He had to choose his words carefully here. "... division of assets, let's say?"

"I'm not sure I follow you," Harry said, sounding bemused.

"If you were trying to get a marriage annulled, for instance. Or become emancipated."

"Or become..." Harry's brow furrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

"I just do," Draco snapped. "Jesus, does everything have to be an ordeal?"

"I'll ask her, then," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Malfoy."

"Never mind," Draco said, "I'll just go down to the Ministry myself..." He slid on his shoes and checked his watch.

Harry looked at him curiously for a moment, then returned to his book, his eyebrows arching.

-

"Go ahead in, Mr. Malfoy," the portly receptionist squeaked, waving him in the general direction of the office he had found after asking around for hours.

"Thank you," Draco said with a smirk. It pleased him to see how much weight his name still carried in the Ministry. New world order, his ass.

"Hello, sir," the tall bespectacled black man behind the slightly cramped desk said to Draco, beaming at him. "Please sit down."

Draco settled into the chair opposite the desk. "I have a few questions."

"By all means, go ahead."

"I'd like to be emancipated from my parents."

"Er, well, that is the sort of thing this branch takes care of... How old are you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Eighteen."

The man, whose desk proclaimed him Mr. Deering, cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy, you are aware that you are already of age?"

"Yes, I'm not a complete idiot," Draco said. "But I'm not given access to my trust fund until I'm twenty-one and married."

"Ah," Deering said quietly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Is there a loophole around that?"

"Was paperwork drawn up?"

"I don't know," Draco said. "Probably."

"And is it tradition in your family that gold passes hands from family member to family member, regardless of estrangement?"

"Yes."

"Well," Deering said, "I don't really see how they could force you to be married, provided you didn't sign some binding magical contract --"

"I didn't," Draco said, getting more and more excited by the second.

"-- and the gold in your trust fund is in your name, and you have good reason for wanting access to it before the proper age --"

"I do!" Draco said, on the verge of leaping out of his seat.

"Then I don't see why you wouldn't be able to access the gold in your trust fund, and still receive inheritance upon your parent's passing... However, I would like to meet with them."

"What?" Draco said, his heart sinking.

"I'd like to meet with you_ and _your parents," Deering repeated unnecessarily.

"I don't know if they're..."

"We could get a Ministry owl to them and get the meeting in before this evening," Mr. Deering said, smiling at Draco. "They're terribly quick, those Ministry owls."

"Of course," Draco said.

-

Three or so hours later, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy arrived at the Ministry, one of them rather displeased.

"This whole affair is ridiculous," Lucius growled.

"Mmm," said Narcissa, who disagreed.

Draco's palms were sweating more than was probably natural. He cast a quick drying spell on them and tried to compose himself. _Shit, shit, shit_.

"Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," Deering beckoned, a ridiculous smile on his face. Two chairs had been conjured up, and the two sat.

"Your son tells me --"

Lucius made a rather affronted noise.

Deering pressed on. "Did you bring the paperwork?"

"Yes," Narcissa said quickly, placing it on his desk.

He took a few minutes to rifle through them and cleared his throat again. "Well, it would appear... Draco hasn't signed any of this?"

Draco briefly wondered why he had been demoted from 'Mr. Malfoy,' which sounded much more intimidating.

"Well, of course not," Lucius snapped.

"But he's of age, now," Deering said. "As soon as a wizard is of age and out of his parent's house, unless something is legally binding him, he is entitled to all gold in his name and inheritance after death of parents or guardians, regardless of estrangement --"

"That can't be right," Lucius interrupted. "Narcissa's sister was disowned, she never saw a Knut the rest of her life --"

"Yes, she was _disowned_," Deering said, with a nervous little smile. "If you plan on disowning Draco, of course, this would all be null and void."

"Lord, no!" Narcissa gasped, as if she were absolutely scandalized by the very idea. "Never! Lucius, please, just let him live his life, you're being --"

"Narcissa, we discussed this," Lucius said loudly.

"Lucius, please, stop trying to teach him a lesson before you drive him away!" Narcissa snapped. "He's our _only _son... if Potter makes him happy, so be it..."

Lucius twitched at the name Potter, as if it were a disgusting swear word.

"Lucius," Narcissa murmured.

"All right!" Lucius roared. "He can have his trust fund. But he's not allowed back into our family vault until I am damn well six feet under!"

Draco smirked broadly.

Narcissa hurried over and grabbed Draco, kissing him repeatedly on the forehead. He brushed her off, embarrassed, but he did it gently.

"Are we all satisfied, then?" Deering said, looking back and forth between the Malfoys. "Yes? Good, glad I could help."

Lucius took the hint and left the office. Narcissa bid farewell to her son and followed him.

Draco, however, lingered a moment.

"Do you know any good florists in Diagon Alley?"

-

"Hey," Harry said happily from where he was standing in the foyer, picking at the wallpaper, as Draco walked in. "I figure we can replace this, it's getting a bit dingy -- the gold accents are nice, though, we could keep those."

"I'm free," Draco said, handing a bouquet of color-changing tulips to Harry.

"Huh?" Harry said, taking the flowers. "These are nice," he said, grinning. "Thanks."

Draco pulled Harry to him and kissed him, _hard_, on the lips. "I'm free," he repeated. "From my parents, Potter, I've got my trust fund and I still get my inheritance when they croak, my trust fund is a fuckton of gold, my mother's forgiven me, I think my father _might_ be off my case!"

"Holy shit," Harry said. "Where did you _go_ this morning, inside the Mirror of Erised?"

"The... what the fuck are you on about, Potter?"

"Never mind," Harry said, grinning and kissing Draco back. "This is great. Seriously. How did you do that?"

"Threatened them with leaving, I suppose," Draco drawled. "My father may be an ass, but he's not stupid, and he knows me not getting married off is better than never seeing me again."

"I didn't think you had it in you," Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Draco. "Help me clean?"

"God, no," Draco said, disentangling himself from Harry and starting up toward the stairs. "Let's go celebrate, Potter."

"Le trop de France?" Harry suggested, following him.

"You have a terrible sense of humor," Draco said. "No, I just... want to _go_. I've been living in London all summer and haven't seen any of it."

"We could start with Regent's Park," Harry said. "It really does have lovely rose gardens."

Draco stopped at the bottom of the Cinderella stairs and looked straight into Harry's green eyes. Harry's palms prickled and he moved to Draco, catching him around the waist and pulling him close.

This time, it felt less like a kiss and more like a promise of things to come.

-

**FIN**

_A/N: ... :D_

_I hope this didn't wrap things up _too_ neatly. There are still, of course, problems that Harry and Draco will face in their lives, but at least they can go and face them together without the impending doom of arranged marriage. _

_There will be an epilogue after this chapter, and of course, further installments, so if you enjoyed the story and would like to read more, you can add me to Author Alert. The ficlets I mentioned in a previous chapter are located at my profile under the title "Warped Into Time",_

_and my fictionpress username is anElegantUniverse._ _[/shameless plugging]. _

_I'd like to thank my readers so much for being so cool and reviewing and giving me inspiration to continue this. You guys are all awesome. (:  
_


	24. Epilogue

"I'm not going," Draco said stubbornly.

"Well, fine, don't go, then," Harry said as he pulled on his nicest pair of trousers. "But it's Christmas Eve and I'm not staying here with you and Cat and Sirius's mum, watching the clocks tick. I'm going."

"You can't leave me alone on _Christmas_, Potter," Draco whined, following Harry out of his bedroom and over to the staircase.

"I can, and I will," Harry said, jogging down the stairs.

"But..."

"Listen, maybe you shouldn't come anyway," Harry said off-handedly, stopping to straighten the burgundy Christmas tree Draco had charmed to not drop needles and glimmer brightly twenty-four seven. "It _is_ Ron and Hermione's party."

Draco huffed at him. "What are you implying?"

Harry grinned. "Nothing, Malfoy. Just hang around here and drink yourself into a stupor, I should be back around midnight."

"This is that stupid Muggle thing, isn't it? Reverse psychology? I'm not falling for it."

"Then I'll see you later," Harry said, strolling toward the front door. _Wait for it_, he thought to himself as he placed his hand on the knob.

"All right, all right!" Draco spluttered, hurrying after him.

Harry gave him a very un-Harry-ish smirk. "Coming, then?"

-

"Just don't start anything with anyone and it'll be fine."

"It will _not," _Draco snarled. "You are feeding me to the lions, Potter, you are _literally_ feeding me to the lions."

"I really don't think you know what that word means," Harry said as they walked up to the building of Ron and Hermione's flat. "Also, you haven't stopped talking the entire way here."

"We_ Apparated_, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Maybe it felt longer because you were being such a git," Harry said, laughing. "Come on."

They Apparated outside of the door of 478 and Harry rang the doorbell.

"HARRY!"

Harry disappeared under a flying blur of long red hair and denim. When Ginny finally let go of him, she squealed, "It's been so long!"

"Yes, yeah, yes it has been," Harry said, pulling off his jacket and shooting a grin at Draco.

Draco looked back at him with an eyebrow quirk that said 'they're _your_ Weasleys' and skulked in through the apartment door Ginny had left open.

Ginny grabbed Harry by the wrist. "Come on, you need a drink."

She dragged him through the foyer. "Harry's here!" she called.

There was a general cheerful uproar from the crowd, that sort of good-natured drunken call to arms. Someone who might have been Seamus Finnigan yelled, "Get him a drink!"

A Christmas tree was blinking in the corner. Harry barely got a look at it before Ginny had pulled him into the kitchen.

"Take your pick," she said, gesturing at a counter covered in various alcoholic beverages. "Not the blue stuff, no one's quite sure what that is, Fred and George brought it and they've been trying to get Neville to drink some all night..."

"Speak of the devil," Harry said as George wandered into the brightly lit little kitchen.

"You brought Malfoy?" George said, laughing loudly as he gave Harry a friendly slug on the shoulder.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "Why?"

"Bit of an odd thing to do," Fred said as he walked in behind George. "Everyone's too plastered to notice, though. Neville try the blue stuff yet?"

"No," Ginny said.

"Damn."

A few girls in the corner of the kitchen who Harry didn't recognize burst into giggles suddenly. One of them turned around and looked at Harry, wild-eyed, and then turned back to her friend.

"Who the hell?" Harry said as Ginny handed him a drink. "Thanks."

"Ginny raided her year," Fred said. "Word of mouth is a tricky thing. He's off in the corner brooding exquisitely."

"Who?"

"Your Slytherin."

"Ah, yeah, him. Well," Harry said, setting down his drink, "I think I'll go... join the party. By the way, Ginny, why are you dressed up like a Muggle?"

"These?" Ginny said, gesturing at her jeans and black top. "It's completely ace to look like a Muggle right now," she said. "Some post-war fad. I think it's your doing."

"Isn't everything?" Harry said with a laugh as he returned to the living room.

"So I tells him, I says," Mundungus Fletcher was saying to the room at large, "if you want her, by all means, take 'er, but I'm getting me money back one way or another!"

Everyone burst into laughter. Harry looked at Ron and mouthed, "_Mundungus?"_

Ron shrugged in a way that Harry took to mean Fred and George were involved.

"Harry," Hermione said, tapping him on the arm.

"Hermione!"

"How are you?"

"I'm doing all right, you?"

"Managing," Hermione replied, brushing her hair away from her face. "And how's your... home life?"

"Fantastic."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Harry," she said, smiling weakly at him. "I'm sorry, it's just... work is a mess, and you know..."

"I do," Harry said, hugging her. "Don't worry about _me_, okay? I'm moving on. We're all moving on."

She smiled wanly at him. "Trying, at least."

"_C'est la vie_," he replied.

Hermione shot him an odd look.

"Sorry, been spending too much time with Malfoy," Harry said, tipping his wand to the edge of his glass and watching as it refilled itself.

"Speaking of which," Draco said, appearing behind him.

Harry started in alarm. "That's a terrible habit of yours," he grumbled.

"Granger," Draco said curtly.

"Hello," Hermione said. "If you'll excuse me, I think Neville is choking on his own tongue," she said, and fled the room, pulling her wand out as she went.

"He drank the blue stuff, I reckon," Harry said as Draco slid an arm around his waist. "Er, what are you doing?"

"What? We're in a _dark corner_, Potter, good God, are you that ashamed of me?"

"No, of course not, you're just not usually this forward," Harry said.

"Speaking of forward," Draco said as Ginny walked by Dean and he patted her ass.

The two of them watched in amusement as Ginny wheeled around and brandished her wand, threatening to do rather painful-sounding things with it to various parts of Dean's body.

"Drunk," Draco proclaimed.

"Wasn't Blaise hosting a Christmas Eve party? Why didn't you go there?"

"I've got a better idea, why don't you go to the nearest opium den and order a lap dance?"

"Do they even have those anymore? And what does that have to do with Blaise?" Harry replied, amused.

"That's what his parties are like."

"Oh."

Draco tightened his grip on Harry's waist. "Ditch the Gryffindors, Potter," he whispered in Harry's ear.

"Are you just going to proposition me or will you at least make a case for yourself, Malfoy?"

"Here's the case," Draco said. "They're a bunch of drunken assholes --"

Neville stumbled back into the room, red-faced. Hermione followed shortly, looking triumphant.

"-- I'm horny, and bored, and tipsy, and Weasley keeps looking at me like he wants to hit me, and I bruise easily."

"Let's hang around a few more minutes," Harry said. "Seamus just started a game of strip Exploding Snap. You won't be bored for long."

-

"I'm drunk now," Draco moaned. His left arm was slung across Harry's shoulders and he was clutching the front of Harry's cloak with his right, with his face buried in his shoulder.

"Yes, I had realized," Harry said. "Fuck, I'm drunk too. Which way is Grimmauld Place again?"

"Over there," Draco said, gesturing vaguely.

They were taking a short-cut through the park across from Ron and Hermione's flat, and the moonlight was filtering through the trees. They were dead and bare from the bitter London winter, but thick enough to provide a sort of canopy as the two of them headed up the slowly turning cobblestone path.

"I haven't been here before," Harry said, shivering even in his cloak, which was charmed to adjust its temperature. They had only recently figured out how to transfer the charm to clothes and Harry had shelled out a handsome sum for the cloak when it had first appeared in stores. Of course, the price was much lower now.

_C'est la vie. _

A young Muggle couple riding in a horse-drawn carriage clopped by. Draco snorted in their general direction.

"Father promised once," Draco murmured, "that he would buy me a horse-drawn carriage, and a person to operate it."

"I'm assuming that didn't happen," Harry said, "which is good, because I think Cat is enough."

"Just been thinking about things like that," Draco said quietly, "lately. Hold on, I need to sit down, the world is tilting."

They stumbled in tandem over to a park bench and sat down.

Draco dropped his head into Harry's lap. Harry absent-mindedly brushed Draco's blonde hair away from his face.

"Your jaw is sharp," Harry said, jiggling his leg.

Draco's grey eyes stared out into the darkness. Somewhere, Christmas carols were being sung off-key.

"World still tilting?"

"Yes, but it's okay," Draco muttered. "I like this kind of tilting."

"I've been thinking too," Harry said, "but you know I don't like to do things half-assed, so I wanted to know what I was talking about..."

"And," Draco muttered.

"I can't really picture being old and doddery with anyone but you."

"What are you getting at," Draco said, turning onto his back so he was looking up at Harry.

Harry hesistated. "Someday..."

"Someday..."

"Someday I'd like to ask you to spend the rest of your life with... me," Harry said.

The wind moved the trees, making soft noises above their heads. Black against midnight blue.

"Oh, Potter," Draco laughed.

"What?"

"Well, what do you think I'm going to say?"

"I don't know, it was sort of a yes or no question --"

"It was never a yes or no question," Draco said. "It's a yes. It's not a question, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

Draco sat up and kissed him. "Whatever."

"I hope you don't mind, but all I got you was a pair of socks," Harry said as they stood up.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to kill you now," Draco muttered as he stumbled to his feet.

As they walked off into the night, Harry took off his cloak.

"Aren't you freezing?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not anymore."

-

_A/N: WOW, this is late! Sorry! After school started it was one thing after another. _

_I hope to get up the next few ficlets in Warped into Time at some point soon, and maybe a post-JoM one-shot (possible setting: Ron and Hermione's wedding). If you have any ideas of what you'd like to see, please feel free to suggest them to me! ;)  
_


End file.
